


Mess is Mine

by poeticandvaguelysweet



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, look another kid fic, no surprises there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticandvaguelysweet/pseuds/poeticandvaguelysweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returned from the Navy, Owen Grady meets Claire Dearing and her twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this until the whole thing was finished. But, I am fairly confident - famous last words - that I know where it's going and am almost finished. Until then, you'll get a chapter a week, if you behave. 
> 
> Title comes from 'Mess is Mine' by Vance Joy.

Claire was stubborn.

She had always known it. It had become her curse of sorts, or so her family had always said with rolled eyes and shaking heads. 

Her stubborn nature liked to find her in difficult and inconvenient places. She took the reigns regardless, owning every second of her actions without apology. In recent times, she’d become self conscious of invading the time and space of others. Not entirely on her own part but that of the little lives she toted around with her. 

She had missed her period and was met with conflicted fear, and an inability to not see a task through to the end. It was then stubbornness reared it’s fierce head inside of her. Regardless of being alone, she was determined to raise the life that had sparked within her. There was no reason why she couldn’t, other than being semi attached to her job more than any child would be attached to their mother. 

When her doctor smiled softly, wonderment in her eyes and wistfulness on her breath. The word _twins_ slipped past Claire’s cool control, sliding in right behind her heart as she watched Jolie show her Baby A and Baby B. 

Stubbornness encouraged her to do it on her own, despite no longer having a choice. It was what gave her courage as she nodded mildly at Karen’s phone call. Her sister committed time out of her life to help her baby sister settle with babies of her own. 

Claire had been nervous for a small matter of weeks, unsure of if she could do it on her own. She found her second wind somewhere, unsure of where exactly. Seemingly having plucked it from the street, more empowered than she had before. 

Bed rest didn’t help. Nor did Karen. Claire was a wildfire desperate for her sons to move from her belly to her arms. She was sure, the second she could hold them that she was capable of juggling them both on her own. It had been the assistance of Karen that blinded her, that made it all seem less hard than it was, but provided the courage Claire needed.

Their identical twin hood didn’t phase her, Claire grinning down at her tiny little sons a hand on each of their soft cheeks, arms pushed through their shared incubator. She was exhausted and a little traumatised at their sudden, but not unexpected early arrival. Claire couldn’t squelch the thrum in her chest, heart already expanding to encompass both her boys. Two new additions to her solitary life.

Oliver and Isaac. She knew it in a heartbeat, waisting no time in scribbling their names on their hospital anklets. Karen had more permanent identifiers made as soon as Claire was settled on their names. 

Karen’s assistance was invaluable. Although newborn and sleeping most of their days, Claire had struggled with keeping on top of the boys. When one was hungry, the other quickly followed. Identical in face and in needs. They were determined to drive her crazy and although exhausted, Claire couldn’t have been happier. 

She insisted her sister go home after the boys had reached their two month mark. Karen had been away from her own sons for long enough, her home likely in disarray in the hands of her husband and teenagers.

Claire only smiled, a hand patting the rump of each of her boys, both of them nestled in her arms. She would be fine. They got off to a shaky start but she had it under control. She was saying the words, but there was the slightest set of fright behind her eyes. The faintest sign that she was unprepared and desperately needed for her sister to stay. Karen went reluctantly, tempted to drag her sister with her. 

They were good boys. Quiet for the most part, unless they were hungry. Although she was madly in love with them, content to stare at their little faces for hours at a time, Claire was going stir crazy. Bed rest for a number of weeks was one thing. Confined to the house because she had two infants was another. 

She ventured out. Her favourite cafe was only a small distance from her home and if she went early enough she could have a moment or two before the school drop off rush. It was half past eight, the cafe around her quiet with a small number of patrons. The barista was still setting up, wiping sleep from her eyes and collecting her bearings. She grinned with her whole body at the sight of Claire and the pram. 

She settled in the booth against the wall, sunlight stretching through the windows to grace the spot she had chosen. Claire smiled thankfully at the girl who set two slices of raisin toast down in front of her, spreads to match and a warm mug of hot chocolate. She stopped to coo at the boys, enquiring into their wellbeing and bashfully stating that she had been upset when no birth announcement was sent. 

Sabrina worked the morning rush, setting up just before it started and staying until 11am when a few other coworkers joined the shift. She knew Claire’s order off by heart and almost startled when Claire ordered something other than a latte to go the day after she discovered she was pregnant. Although they weren’t friends, and they barely spoke, there was a kinship that bubbled through continuous and routine contact. 

It had taken Sabrina three mornings to adjust to Claire’s order of toast and a soy hot chocolate along with Karen’s order and the idea that the usually in-a-hurry business woman would be eating in. Claire smiled softly, apologising that she had been too caught up for birth announcements and didn’t much see the point. The only family she had left was her sister and as for her employers Claire didn’t want them to see her as the doting new mother. 

Her aim was to keep her professional and personal lives seperate for as long as possible. 

She introduced the boys to grinning Sabrina, the girl asking tepidly if she could hold one. The cafe was quiet, a small handful of patrons already sipping their coffee and eating their meals. The last thing Claire wanted was to distract the girl from her job. Everything was well under control. 

It was Oliver she unbuckled from the pram lifting his small body out, careful not to disturb him as she handed her youngest son over to the excited waitress. Oliver - who had quickly been dubbed Ollie was the calmest and easier of her two boys by far. Isaac, only a number of weeks old had already learnt how to cause havoc in their house. Ollie, for the most part, would keep sleeping regardless of if his warmth had shifted bodies. 

Sabrina sighed as Claire lowered the tiny body into her arms warm and smelling sweetly of something indescribable. She watched his face for a moment before she repeated the name Claire told her. The girl laughed, her face turned to her coworker - the barista and conveniently Sabrina’s sister, Izzy. 

‘How come she gets to hold ‘em first?!’ She laughed, calling out over the shop as she prepared a to go order for someone who looked like Claire used to be. ‘You know, if you ever need a babysitter. We’re more than happy.’ Izzy grinned, Claire had no doubt that the girl meant it. 

She watched Sabrina walk across the cafe to let her sister peer over Ollie’s little face. The boy went on sleeping. Sabrina returned him within time, going back to her morning duties as Claire ate the toast the girl had bought her and sipped on her drink. 

There was no use in rushing back home when Isaac grumbled at her. He was hungry. She had learnt their cries enough to grasp the difference between the boys learning their voices, having soiled their diapers, being hungry and over tired. The lines often blurred but Claire was confident, noting the time, that the boy was grizzling to be fed. 

She let him nurse, fingers playing with the grey band around his ankle ‘ _Isaac’_ stitched into the fabric. His brother wore a similar one, soft blue _’Oliver’_ scrolled across the fabric. Claire hated to admit that the second she saw them she couldn’t tell one from the other. If it weren’t for their hospital tags she would have confused them both too many times to admit. 

Isaac already had a feisty spirit. The boy refused to latch to her breast properly and Claire in turn refused to let him form a bad habit. He grumbled at her, little arms free from his wrap fisting through the air every time she tried to refocus him. 

Claire eyed the other patrons, a fear in her chest rising as the boy continued to make her life difficult for the hell of it. She loved her boys, admired their very existence but they were already trying to push her buttons and that alone was beginning to frustrate her. There were a few people in line, staring at Izzy with lifeless eyes as though they could will her to move faster. Brianna was delivering the breakfast platter to an elderly couple in the back corner. A mother and daughter sat near them, the girl in her work uniform waiting for her shift to start and a man sat across the room and a little to Claire’s left, newspaper in his hands. None of them seemed bothered, so far. 

She had moved a little too much to get settled, Isaac finally latching a little uncomfortably and Claire too put out to bother to fix it _again._ There was only so many times she could pull him away from his main source of nourishment - something he enjoyed _a lot_ before there was subsequent payback. He was going to grow teeth one day and bite her for her efforts.

Ollie was lying on the booth seat beside her, his small legs pushing against her thigh. Claire had shifted a little too much, practically wrangling his brother into submission that she had knocked Oliver or disturbed him without noticing.

His small cry was wasn’t fully formed. The sound crackling as he tried his best to belt out his annoyance. It jolted Isaac, pulling the boy away from her breast. She tried to encourage him back to her skin, one hand holding Isaac the other rubbing Oliver’s stomach. It worked to no avail, only hyping both boys up as Claire struggled to juggle her attention between the two. 

It would have been easier to go home when Isaac was hungry, let him mess around in the comfort of their house where no one would care if he cried and where Oliver could go on sleeping without Claire’s fidgeting. 

Isaac joined his brother in exhaling their inconvenience towards the world. Together, their pitch reached an uncomfortable level, flustering her mother beyond repair. Claire scrambled to tucked them back in the pram, knowing it would be easier to head home now rather than try to quell their irritation. 

Never one to feel the scrutiny of others, it was all she noticed once her boys were born. There was only so much she could control. Neither boy was it. There was no telling how they would react to a situation or for how long they would sleep. Sure, they were supposed to be sleeping for six hours, that didn’t exactly mean that they were doing it straight. 

She felt nerves build up in her chest, making her hands shake as she tried to organise her sons quickly. She was conscious of the other bodies in the cafe, regardless of if they were watching her or not. All Claire could think was how her crying sons were potentially ruining their mornings. She needed to get out _fast_. 

Claire Dearing was never an inconvenience. Only now, she felt like she was. 

She didn’t realise there was a body beside her until she felt a hand on her elbow. ‘Do you want a hand?’ The voice was unmistakably male. She jumped slightly at the touch, half bent over the pram trying to tuck Isaac in and calm him all the same. Claire barely looked at the man by her side, noting that he had been the one with the newspaper. 

She was embarrassed that the boys had caused enough of an issue that the man had removed himself from his place to intervene. She shook her head, muttering that she was leaving when she realised his hand hadn’t left her arm. 

‘Seriously,’ He offered, tilting his head to catch her eye. Claire blinked at the man, watching the way his grin cut into his cheeks. He was nothing but a friendly smile and kind eyes. She flickered her gaze away from him to the other patrons, no one had so much as turned to look in her direction. ‘Finish your drink at least, you’re not bothering anyone.’ He reassured her quickly, smiling as she drew her attention from the boy in the pram to the boy on the booth seat, her body lowering to sit where she had been.

She smiled at him oddly, as she nodded promising to do as he said. ‘My sister is a firm believer in sticking it to … well, everyone.’ He chuckled, explaining quickly that she didn’t need to leave in a rush. Although the infants had needs, she could stay an extra minute just to finish her drink. ‘Can I hold him?’ He asked, nodding towards the infant beside her hip still forcing out disgruntled cries. 

Claire watched her son, and then the man, eyeing him for a second before nodding, desperate for the help. ‘I’m Owen, by the way.’ He introduced, Claire’s eyes on the baby as he scooped her child up effortlessly, Oliver engulfed by the muscle of Owen’s arm. 

‘Claire,’ She nodded back, smiling as he settled in the chair across from her, Oliver hushing almost immediately. ‘Oliver.’ She told him, just as Owen inspected the band around the boy’s leg. ‘And Isaac,’ She nodded to the pram, both hands wrapped around her still warm mug. ‘Thank you.’ She muttered, watching in half spun awe at the way he handled her son. With Oliver settled, he turned to Isaac, hand settling on the boy’s chest just as Claire had done, finding calm within the child in a second. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ He grinned, ‘It’s no problem.’ He sat with her while she finished her drink, cradling Oliver in his broad arms and making Claire’s heart skip a beat. She never thought she would have longed for someone to be at the other end of the table, for a man to hold her child. She was content with them just as they were. Even at two months old. It was likely the pressure of the day, taking a big step when they weren’t ready for it that had excess adrenaline pumping through her system and jolting her heart. It certainly wasn’t tall and lean Owen who held her son with such expertise despite being a giant in comparison to her baby boy. 

He admitted quietly that he loved kids, just wasn’t one hundred per cent great with them. He was an uncle, to a niece he adored but saw rarely and had been itching for an excuse to come over and gander at her twins from the second she walked in the door.

Owen wasn’t a cure-all fix that instantly remedied every pain. The boys gave her until she’d reached the last mouthful of her drink before they started protesting. This time, Claire was prepared- or Owen was. She wasn’t too sure who but it was one of them, or both of them in tandem. Ollie was deposited into the bassinet of the pram beside his brother, the two of them close again.

Claire was not forgetful of the fact that one boy had partially been fed and the other had not. 

She’d walked that morning, but didn’t give Owen that information. Thanking him and bidding goodbye at the door, insisting that he should go back to his paper. She pressed up onto her toes to kiss his cheek sincerely, thanking him for his kindness. 

Claire was preoccupied with getting her boys home before they really lost it, in time for her to feed them properly that she was completely unaware that her wallet was left discarded in the cafe.

[…] 

The knock at her door was unplanned, catching Claire off guard as she lowered Isaac into the bassinet beside his twin. They’d been home for an hour, both boys fed and happily drowsy again. She enjoyed their sleepy state and knew once they were more alert that she was going to be in a world of trouble. None the less, Claire couldn’t wait for the boys to become a little more active in their lives, staying awake a lot longer than a small handful of hours at a time. 

Karen was right, babies were hard. It was multiplying schedules and listening to one infant fuss while his brother took his sweet time feeding. They had managed on a slight level of struggle that morning but Claire attributed it to being her fault more than the twins’. She had been the stubborn one to take them out of their home and introduce them to a brand new environment that didn’t mix too well with her insecurities in motherhood. 

They were only reacting in kind to the situation she had put them in. 

She moved for the door curiously, hoping it wasn’t guests or her well meaning neighbour. She’d just put the boys down and were hoping they would stay there enough for Claire to take a nap. It was nearing ten and already she was exhausted. 

Claire didn’t expect the body behind the door to be Owen. His kindness had extended beyond a simple interaction in the cafe to her wallet grasped in his outstretched hand. He smiled at her meekly, ‘You, ah, you left this behind. The girls there said they’d call you later but I thought you wouldn’t want to leave the house again.’ 

She couldn’t help but stare at him, shy smile growing across her face. It was his kindness or his dimples that made her stomach flip. Claire couldn’t tell what it was, or perhaps it was an early warning sign that her boys were no longer sleeping and seconds from loosing their minds.

‘And they just _gave_ you my address?’ She asked, raising an eyebrow as she watched him. Neither of them called into question how the girls knew Claire’s address to begin with. It was a fact not needed to be questioned as Owen stood on her doorstep, grinning kindly. 

He shrugged, ‘They’re my sisters’. Owen’s words were said on a laugh, taking in Claire’s expression as she grinned back. She had thought she could trust the girls with her personal information - and she could - only they would pass it on to their much older, _dashing_ brother. He was doing her a good deed to save one or both the girls some time in their busy days. 

Owen handed her wallet over without a word just as one of the boys made himself known in the depths of the house. Claire sagged, keeping up her smile as her shoulders dropped. She was hoping for the slightest of adult interactions in the comfort of her own home. Owen had spoken with her kindly that morning, discussion flowing from an article he had read in the newspaper. Claire was desperate for the interaction, happy to throw her feet at anyone who simply knew words. Karen had left a small number of days ago and although Claire had been adamant to her older sister that she could handle her infants’ on her own, she was starting to see that there was a downside to single parenting. But, when her boys cried, she had no choice but to answer. 

In her doorway, Owen shrugged and waved her off as she gave him an apologetic look. She was torn between testing the children, seeing if they would settle themselves while she remained with Owen. Her need to comfort them was too much. She had to see what their problem was. 

‘Hey, ah, maybe I’ll see you at the cafe sometime?’ Owen shrugged, watching is shoes for a second before he looked up. Claire was nodding softly, sweet grin splitting across her face as Owen’s heart picked up a beat. ‘You know, if your husband doesn’t mind.’ 

Claire stopped, her smile still present. ‘Why aren’t you scared of me?’ She asked on a curious note, her hip cocked to the doorframe. Owen quirked a brow, watching her curiously until she elaborated. ‘Young woman, newborns - that usually sends everyone else running.’ 

He shrugged, nonchalant, the slow smile that crept across his face setting her heart out of beat. ‘It doesn’t make you any less appealing to me.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets, his smile low and easy. ‘That is, unless someone’s gonna come after me for talking to their girl.’ Claire snorted, the noise caught in the back of her throat as she rolled her eyes. 

‘You’re safe, Owen.’ She affirmed, watching as his grin softened, the cocky humour finding home against his shoulders. ‘I really have to go.’ With her thumb, Claire pointed towards the living room behind her and the sound of upset infants. Owen nodded, brushing her comment off as he reaffirmed that he would see her around. 

He tried his best not to clutch at his chest to still his beating heart the second Claire closed the door with an easy smile. Owen knew, without a doubt, that he would see her again, if only to find that smile and the easy affirmation of an infant’s gurgle. He needed _normal_ back and maybe Claire was the key to his mystery lock. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I said Tuesday’s were new post days but I’m sick and I’m bored and I’m at a block. Also, I totally cleared my Friday’s so I could have kept it as my post day but whatever.  
> Anyway, expect Mess is Mine on a Monday or a Tuesday (AEST) depending on my week.

 

There were a few small _things_ Owen Grady was looking forward to upon his return home. Ten years serving with the Navy had kept him away from home and comfort. Owen had learnt how to adapt, learnt that he didn’t need the things he had once relied on. His sisters, still young girls when he first left, were the only thing Owen couldn’t manage to shake. 

He always came home for his sisters. 

Sabrina and Isabelle had managed just fine without him. They still had their mother and father for support, not to mention their older sister and a second brother that unevenly rounded the family off to seven. But, Owen felt like their protector. That it was _his_ duty to watch over them. Cassie always had his back when they were growing up, and now it was his turn to watch out for Izzy and Rina while Rhys did his own thing - likely still brooding over a decade old decision 

He spent a decade serving for his country, and now he was home living in a tiny apartment that seemed _too_ big for him. He hadn’t had that much space in a long time and was at a loss for what to do with himself. His job wouldn’t start for another two months. 

Owen was left to bother his sisters at their day job, both girls grinning from ear to ear when he joined them in opening the shop. ‘Are you sure you’re not just going to pick up and leave again?’ Izzy had asked, eyeing him cautiously as they pulled chairs from the tops of tables. 

She was so used to seeing Owen on a bare occasion. Sometimes for Christmas, sometimes not. He managed at least four thanksgivings in the last ten years, which was a fair effort on Owen’s behalf. He turned up on birthdays some years surprising his siblings or parents on milestones. He was only ever home for a couple days before he was gone again. 

‘Not for a little while.’ He hummed, eyes on the chair in his hand. ‘’Sides I think Ma likes having us all at the table.’ Sabrina scoffed somewhere behind the counter, making noise as she moved, preparing herself for the day. 

Dinner had been mandatory when Owen arrived home. The whole clan swarming back to his mother’s house, cramming the space they were now too big for. It had managed to work when they were kids, the five of them plus his parents all under the one roof. Now they had to shuffle further down the table, making room for spouses and flames. In Cassandra, his eldest sister’s case; new room was needed for her kids. 

It was louder than Owen ever remembered. The house full of bodies, full of noise. So much had changed around him as he came and went. Owen had never felt more out of the loop than when they tried to welcome him home. 

‘She’d have liked it a lot better if Rhys was there too.’ Izzy mused as she moved onto the next table, leaving Owen a step behind.

He shrugged, ‘I can’t control him.’ Izzy always liked to think he could. They were brothers, in a house invaded by women there was supposed to be a special bond they shared on more than one level. 

Owen joined the Navy, Rhys disappeared. That was the way the world worked. His brother’s appearances became as scarce as Owen’s, the two of them wading in and out with the tide never quite meeting on the banks at the same time. 

He pushed Rhys out of his mind. There was only so much Owen could say, only so much he could do. Instead, he bugged his baby sisters looking for something better to do. He could have sought out his nephew and niece, bothered Cassie on her busy mornings, but knew better than to step on the toes of the eldest Grady daughter. Cassie had two years on his shoulders, and wisdom beyond Owen’s worth. He looked at her like she shone light on the earth - as every little brother should. Messing with her schedules was close to asking for death. 

Izzy and Rina didn’t mind for his company, willing to supply him with coffee and pastries so long as he didn’t break anything. 

And if he happened to have been hoping on the visit of one particular patron, their feelings were less than likely to be hurt. In fact, Owen knew he would never hear the end of it if his sister’s knew what he was doing. 

There was something about Claire. He wanted to roll his eyes at himself. Owen knew better. He was a destroyed man, broken into small pieces just rattling in the shell of who he used to be. No one had spoken about it yet. His mother didn’t dare comment. His sisters were just too happy to see him home to mind that he wasn’t the man they used to know. Claire, she deserved the moon and stars - he already knew - not only for herself, but for her little boys. She deserved better than him.

Owen could wait for her though, hope that she would push a pram through the door, sun igniting her vermillion hair in fiery waves before setting his soul alight. He could smile at her politely before turning his eyes to the paper in front of him. 

Who was he to stop her from joining him at a booth only one space down from where she had sat the first time he saw her. He couldn’t turn her down when she started to talk, or extinguish the bright light behind her smile. Instead, Owen smiled back. 

Once a week for two months Claire met him in the little cafe his sisters ran. They shared a booth, conversation, and a meal. He cooed at her sons, marvelling in their small developments as Claire clung to every sliver of adult conversation he was handing her. They talked about everything and nothing.She helped him with the crossword. He fell in love with her brain, her laugh, the way the sun caught her smile at quarter to nine, just like clockwork. He loved the way it ended in disaster, every time. One or both her boys causing up a fuss that eventually saw Claire out the door in ten minutes or less. 

He walked her home once or twice. The two of them strolled, boys comfortable again with a change of pace. There was a market on the longer of short-cuts to her home. Claire couldn’t help but stop. She would stand in front of the flowers, marvelling at their colours, their smells all while trying to teach Owen a thing or two he would never retain. Claire would choose a bouquet, paid for it, and laid it on top of the pram humming that she knew the perfect place to put it. 

The air was always the sweetest on those mornings. Owen discovered he would follow her blindly to the ends of the earth before leaping off at Claire’s command. There was no telling what she could get him to do. He was completely at her mercy. 

Work was the killer of all things. Unfortunately, Owen needed to pay the rent.   
  
They tried to find a routine in his early starts. There was nothing there inside the lines of Claire’s comfort zone. He was in and out for an unnecessary coffee just to steal a smile from her. They proceeded like normal as Sabrina made his order, Owen and Claire pretending he didn’t have to leave the second she called his name.

He didn’t want to invade her personal space. Owen knew better than to ask to see her elsewhere outside the cafe, outside their walks to her home. He wouldn’t allow himself to do it, couldn’t bare the heartbreak he would set her towards had he allowed them anything else than morning _dates_. 

But, he couldn’t help doing her a single kindness. 

Mother’s Day was Mother’s Day and it was Claire’s first. He knew - because she had told him - that she had nothing planned. The only family she had was a sister who lived out of state, one Claire insisted didn’t need to move her whole family just for her first _Mother’s Day_. 

He bought flowers for his mother, just like any good son. His sister’s organised breakfast leaving Owen to simply turn up. It wasn’t a holiday Owen was used to being home for. He organised flowers to be delivered but was never the one to deliver them. And set aside the time to email his mother expressing his gratitude to and for the woman who raised him.

Owen didn’t know where the thought had come from. One minute he was hugging his mother, and bidding goodbye to his sister’s for the afternoon and in the next he was carefully inspecting the remnants of flowers left behind by forgetful husbands and sons. 

He intended to leave them on the doorstep. Ring the doorbell and walk away. He had. The bouquet was placed neatly on her doormat, his finger had left the bell, the noise ringing inside the small home in front of him. Owen had turned on his heel, a single movement of muscle from stepping away when the door in front of him swung open. 

‘Oh, thank God,’ Claire sighed at the sight of him. Owen flinched, caught off guard and suddenly guilty. It didn’t stop him from watching her, taking in the tired look on her face that seemed deeper now than he had ever seen it. 

He bent to pick up the flowers, handing them to her with a shy smile. ‘Happy Mother’s Day!’ He grinned, holding them out as Claire took them in awed shock. Despite the exhaustion, her smile was radiant. 

‘Can I borrow you?’ She asked, looking a little sheepish as Owen shrugged. There was no reason why she couldn’t. No reason other than either of them falling in too deep, unable to grapple themselves out of a situation they shouldn’t have been in. He could tell he had already fallen for her. Too many years at sea made his mind weak, but Owen was sure she was some kind of one-in-a-billion special. 

Claire grabbed him by the hand as her whole body sagged and yanked him into her home in relief. 

He had no idea what to expect. Hell, he could have formulated a small list of things she could have wanted to borrow him for. At the most, Owen expected something that required tinkering. A broken shower head, or a too high lightbulb that needed changing. In the darkest pits of his mind, Owen might have entertained the thought of getting lucky. 

Watching her sons while she took a nap was the last thing Owen Grady expected. 

‘Please? You’re so good with them, they know you - I know you - and they’re already sleeping. All you have to do is soothe them if they cry.’ She had shoved the monitor into his hand, the two of them standing semi awkwardly in the middle of her pristine living room. ‘It’ll just be for an hour.’ All Claire wanted was to sleep with the monitor turned off. There had barely been a night where she hadn’t woken to the slightest of sounds only to find it was nothing near her sons’ upset cries. 

Owen couldn’t turn her down. She was a mother in need and it so happened to be Mother’s Day. 

She thanked him with an honest desperation in her eyes, her hands clasped together like she was ready to beg. Her instructions were simple. His timing was impeccable. All Claire wanted was to close her eyes - uninterrupted - for an hour. The boys had just been put to bed, they had been fed. If they made a noise, sook or protest all he was required to do was resettle them - or simply keep them quiet enough that Claire couldn’t hear. 

Their bedroom was the first door on the right at the top of the stairs, the TV remote was on the coffee table, food in the fridge. The baby monitor was on. She left him with that, thanking him again with tired eyes as she moved for the stairs herself. 

It was easy enough, Owen thought, standing stock still in the middle of Claire’s home completely unaware with what to do with himself. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her faith in him. What if he was useless with kids?

Owen had never demonstrated an actual ability to care for a child. Thankfully, he knew what to do. He spent the first five months of his niece’s life helping Cassie with the girl. His sister taught him everything he knew - they learnt together. 

He let her sleep longer than the hour she had announced, deducing that if she had not woken on her own than she simply wasn’t ready. Clearly, she had been desperate enough that she caved to pulling him into her home. An extra hour or two wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

[…] 

Claire woke with a start, heart hammering in her chest as she threw herself forward. 

A sense of urgency rattled in her chest, pushing her up and out of bed. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she slept for three hours straight. The clock on her bedside table told her that she had left Owen on guard two hours longer than she had initially intended. He slipped her mind, brain foggy with more sleep than she was used to. 

She was home, alone - with her two sons - and Claire had over slept. They would be starving, or wet, or upset about something. They had to be. They house didn’t creak, no cries echoed down the halls. Only silence. 

Her heart hammered. There was no reason as to why it should be quiet. Her boys were loud and demanding, the soul reason why she was living off a lack of sleep. Claire jumped to conclusions, terrified her boys had been kidnapped while she slept. She pictured their empty beds - or worse, blue faced little boys; no longer responsive. 

Claire almost tripped over her own feet in a noisy rush to reach the nursery. Fear flared in her chest when she found their cribs, sat neatly under two large windows, empty. She couldn’t breathe. One hand grasped the door jamb, the other clutched at her chest. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, they still weren’t there. 

She had - once - prided herself on being level headed, under control and in control in high stress situations. Right now, Claire Dearing was falling apart. Her head was spinning thanks to the lack of oxygen to her brain, and her rushing thoughts. It was a miracle she made it down the stairs without killing herself. One miss step and she would have fallen, cracking her skull open, leaving her children with no one to look for them. 

Breathing wasn’t coming easy, no matter how many gulps of air she forced down. Her hands were shaking, her eyes watering, her mind trying to figure out the first logical step in a long line of panic scenarios. 

It all came crashing down, pent up emotion crumbling the second Claire stepped into the living room. There he was, Owen - she didn’t even know his last name - slouched on her sofa, Oliver supported in the crook of his left elbow, the man holding a bottle to the child’s mouth in the same hand. He had Isaac too, her second boy sitting on Owen’s knee, all his weight pushed forward against his right hand, gnawing greedily on the man’s fingers. 

Owen looked right at home comfortable and set with both boys, sports on the TV. 

Claire let out a shaky breath, her heart still hammering in her chest as she begged for the beat to regulate. The sound, as bare as it was, caught Owen’s attention, his head turning towards her slowly. He grinned at the sight of her, ‘Hey, sleepyhead’. He was calm, completely unaware of her internal panic.

‘I,’ Claire started, then stopped, trying to catch her shaky voice. She was suddenly aware of the tears that had build up in her eyes, and the emotion bubbled in her throat. Claire had to collect herself, to find all her pieces before she spoke. She would not break down in front of Owen, not this practical stranger of a kind man. ‘I said an hour.’ She told him softly, accusing him of the adrenaline crashing inside her, setting her skin on cold, the rest of her still red hot. ‘Why didn’t you come wake me?’ That held the potential of crossing a line, somewhere between a friendly favour and too personal. 

Owen shrugged, ‘You needed the sleep. I could manage.’ He nodded at the boys in his lap. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ His forefinger tapped the bottle Oliver was guzzling. ‘I saw the notes on the bench.’ Owen was quick to admonish that he wasn’t intruding. The boy was fussy, he paced around the lower floor of the house, caught Claire’s notes on the counter and realised they pertained to the boys and their schedules. 

Checking the watch on her wrist and a mental count in her head, Claire shrugged him off. Oliver would be hungry, and if Owen had to snoop to discover that on his own - she was just glad they stuck to a schedule, even if she had over slept. 

‘You are _very_ organised.’ Owen laughed, relinquishing his hold on Isaac as Claire slipped her hands under the boy’s small arms. She rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing as she shrugged. There was no option not to be, ever, so far as Claire was concerned. Identical twin boys, a single mother - she had her work cut out for her if every nap, feed, and tummy time wasn’t recorded. They’d have fallen apart weeks ago, crumbling under the pressure of Claire’s tired mind. 

She settled in an armchair with Isaac. She sighed heavily, the boy grumbling along side her clearly displeased that she had removed him from gumming Owen’s fingers off. ‘I appreciate it,’ Claire told Owen quietly eyes focused on the top of Isaac’s head, not daring to look over at Owen. ‘For letting me sleep … helping.’ She nodded at Oliver, only a quarter of his bottle left. 

Claire didn’t like to admit it, but more often than not she was overwhelmed by her boys. Not the good kind, the rush of hormones in her system that flooded her with overbearing love for the tiny infants she held. But the suffocating, anxiety leading kind of overwhelmed that threatened to drown her on most mornings. She was determined to do it all alone, go back to work, raise her sons. Their infant years were still in the small months and already proving too difficult. Claire needed help, but she’d pushed every last offer away. 

Karen was her only real hope, but Claire had told her to go home, insisted that she was fine her pride too goddamn stubborn to admit defeat. 

‘You’re really good with them.’ 

‘I don’t know how you do it.’ 

They’d managed to speak in unison, Claire rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. ‘Where’d you learn to look after kids?’ She asked, prying a little if only to avoid his statement. Claire only ever had Karen, and Scott - her sister’s wayward husband. The man had struggled when his first son was born, completely incapable of caring for the child in utter lack of understanding. Innocently, she thought all men were inept when it concerned the species’ young. Who could blame her, aside from Scott the only other male she had seen interact with children personally was her father. The man did a good job in raising his daughters, but he had some distant moments Claire was sure came from uneasy parenting. 

Owen was different. The first time she met him he asked to hold one of the boys, taking the child so easily it seemed to be second nature. He made her judge her own slightly new parenting, all the right muscles not yet stretched properly. 

‘My sister, Cassie, came to live with me when her daughter was about a month old. Picked up a few things there,’ Owen shrugged like it was nothing. ‘Two is no more trouble than one.’ His smile was lazy, his drawl thick, slight accent slipping through his words. 

Babies didn’t scare him like they scared every other able man on the planet. So frightening that most men ran before the suggestion of a child moved on from embryo form.  She was twenty-seven-years-old, surely he had better offers out there. 

Claire could only watch Owen watch her son, his thumb tapping on the side of the bottle Oliver was still greedily gulping down. She couldn’t tell if it was admiration, or something else undefined, but there was a look shared between Owen and Oliver, one soul pouring into the next. Claire was more than happy if Owen needed to borrow her son to bury whatever daemons laid within him. So long as her boys didn’t get hurt in the end. He could seek whatever he needed in the eyes of easy going Ollie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you enjoying my boys? Do you think Owen is already attached a little too soon? And what about Claire's willingness to bring her into her home?
> 
> Don't forget to let me know what you think! Unloved authors write less.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i actually had some time this week to go over this part. it still sucks majorly and i am sorry for that. also, should have been up yesterday but i was too busy spending money on tattoos. whoops. 
> 
> just a little reminder that i have signed myself up for hell. updates may vary from week to week pending on if i have time to fix them before posting. please, please, please be patient and supportive during this time. i have 11 weeks of my degree left. we can do this, fam.

He had become a part of the routine two nights a week. Penciled in after work like her extensive feeding roster, Claire still trying to cling to a semblance of organised. 

Admittedly, he had been the one to offer. Owen wasn’t blind. And Claire wasn’t willing to ask for extra help, despite how badly she needed it. She had learnt, however, to accept assistance when it was being offered. Claire was exhausted. Owen provided her with an extra four hours of sleep a week. It wasn’t much, but it was something to keep her running a little longer. 

He didn’t know how to admit that he enjoyed it. 

Owen’s home life was dull. He called his mother on occasion, visited her or his sisters but mostly Owen just tried to stay out of their way. They weren’t used to having him home, and although they were excited to have him back he didn’t want to bombard them at every second. That, and he preferred to be alone where his ticks weren’t noticed, where the temperature was how he liked it and the noise controlled to nothing below startling. 

They hadn’t figured him out yet, hadn’t asked why his decade long run with the Navy was finally over. They only met him with relief that he was home for the long run. Owen wasn’t sure he wanted them to know. 

With Claire, Owen let his guard down. He didn’t know why, supposed it might have had something to do with her twins. There was innocence, and purity, nothing tainted or ruined. He could hide among them like the disgraced man he felt he was. The pretence was still there, he didn’t want anyone to know his secrets, not even Claire. But he felt safer there than being amongst his own kin. 

Owen would have to tell her at some point, or walk away before attachment grew. But, he liked her too much to watch the pity slide across her face. He was willing to lie, if it meant keeping her good opinion of him sane. Owen was in more trouble than he realised, dependancy brewing between the two of them in the most obvious way. They were blind to it, caught in their own personal struggles to see that they had tied themselves together with an unbreakable chain. 

It was easy work after a semi boring day. For the most part, Isaac and Oliver slept. Some days they slept longer than others, waking with Claire or waking before her. Owen never woke them, or sought to do so. He wandered in to check on them on occasion, so used to doing so for his niece when she and Cassie had come to stay. It was second nature, with a baby in the house, to get up and wander into their room every hour or so. At least, it made Owen feel better. 

Oliver was learning to develop a difficult streak. It was something his brother was born with naturally, the littlest twin behind on his boisterous attitude. Owen had no doubt the boy would develop one. Isaac was a grouch, Claire was fierce and between the two of them Oliver had to have inherited some fight. 

He was wide awake when Owen clunked through the door, slipping off his boots like he knew to do. Claire had left the door unlocked - knowing that he would arrive at any minute - despite his insistence that she should keep it locked at all times. 

She appeared in the foyer as his keys clinked to the island, Oliver in her arms. ‘He won’t go down.’ She told Owen with a frustrated frown, spare hand scrubbing over her face. 

Owen shrugged, reaching for the boy with an easy smile. ‘I don’t mind the company.’ Claire visibly relaxed, body folding in on itself at Owen’s positive response. ‘Ollie and I, we’re good buds. Aren’t we pal?’ He jostled the boy on his hip with over the top excitement, trying his best to entice a reaction out of the boy. 

Oliver responded with a gurgle, small fist landing against Owen’s stubble covered cheek. He was caught between committing to a beard for the hell of it, or shaving regularly. 

Claire rolled her eyes at the two of them, reminding Owen for the tenth time to put Ollie to bed if he displayed any signs of fatigue. She didn’t want his sleeping pattern ruined for the rest of her night. Owen nodded, as he always did before shooing Claire off to her well needed nap. 

The boys were only five-months-old, still so new and yet so much was expected of them already. Claire was talking about first words, and sitting on their own. Oliver, nor Isaac had even begun to show signs of being remotely interested in rolling over let alone making other dependant movements for themselves. The most they could do was hit each other in the head. Isaac, in particular was getting good at _trying_ to hold his own bottle. Owen assumed that one was more of an attempt to wrestle it out of his hands. The boy wasn’t fond of the plastic, he much preferred his mother instead and he certainly held a distain for Owen when the man was feeding him. 

‘Next thing we know, you’ll be playing baseball for the big leagues,’ Owen joked with the little boy who was unable to respond. He gave Oliver credit for the gurgle he let out, spit bubble forming on his lips. He smoothed a hand down the boy’s back as he flicked through the TV channels, Oliver content on his play mat.

One minute there was a game on TV, the repeat just beginning, Oliver stretched out next to him. The next, Owen had shut his eyes, blinked for a split second before the war was stretched out across Claire’s living room, choppy waters to dry desert, blood on his clothes, on his hands. A voice in his head begged for mercy, for forgiveness, for their life as the cries of civilians drowned out everything else. The earth rattled underneath him, shaking with a heavy blow before the _pop-pop-pop_ of assault rifles echoed past his head. 

He snapped to in the middle of Claire’s living room, propped up against the couch, Oliver crying beside him. He couldn’t tell how long he had been out, the game still on, the screen blurry. The little boy beside him had his face pressed into his mat clearly too exhausted to lift his head anymore, wailing loudly at his own struggle, desperate for someone to help. Owen reached for him, hesitating for a split second as he stared at his hands. There was nothing on his skin, no blood, no dirt, no sand or fresh wounds. He was clean, healed, home. 

Owen helped the boy roll onto his back, as the monitor registered behind his head, Isaac crying through the machine. Panic washed over him, urgency and need, something flooding in his chest as his mind span in circles. Owen couldn’t make sense of left or right as he tried to find his breath, suddenly suffocating in an open room. 

He didn’t know what to do other than to get up and run. Responsibility held him down. He couldn’t leave, not when the boys needed him, but he couldn’t help them. Ollie was red in the face, young skin pressed in thick lines as he scrunched his tiny feature’s up just to scream. Isaac sounded the same on the monitor. The both of them desperate for someone other than Owen. He did this to them. He fell asleep on the job, he closed his eyes, he looked away. He could have been responsible for something far worse than upset babies. Had Ollie chosen that moment to learn to roll over he could have rolled into the edge of the TV cabinet and poked his eye out. He could have been on the couch and fallen off, he could have suffocated himself in his mat, he could have swallowed something big enough to choke on. 

The list went on. Owen hyperventilated. 

‘Hey,’ Claire’s fingers graced his bicep, Owen recoiled from her touch scrambling backwards. He thought he was imagining things until his sight focused, her red hair warm in front of him. He didn’t know when she had come down from upstairs but Isaac was now beside his brother, a pacifier in the mouth of each child. They were still grizzling, but were quiet for the most part. ‘What’s wrong?’ Concern bit into her brow, pressing it down as she reached for him a second time, blue eyes grey with worry. ‘Owen.’ 

‘I have to go.’ He announced, still panting as he pushed himself away from her further before standing to his full height, a little lightheaded. Claire didn’t learn, she reached for him a third time as Owen sidestepped around the couch trying to avoid her. 

‘Owen, what’s wrong? What happened?’ All he could think were the things that could have gone wrong. The ways he could have killed her sons, the ways in which he had killed others. Claire only followed him, asking him questions with wild, concerned, eyes. He repeated his words, moving for the door. He couldn’t stay. He had to go. 

Claire moved for the door before he could reach it, pressing herself flush against the wood as she stared him down. ‘I need you to take a breath and explain what _the hell_ is going on.’ She was cool, clam and collected, demanding answers despite the fact that she weighted nothing in comparison to him. He could pick her up and move her away from the door. Claire knew Owen wouldn’t touch her, knew she was safe where she was. 

Owen shook his head. ‘They’re not safe with me, Claire.’ He scrubbed a hand over his face, ‘This is ridiculous, you don’t know anything about me!’ He vented raising his voice a little as frustration expelled itself towards her. She trusted him with her children and barely even knew where he had come from. 

‘Tell me something then!’ She yelled back, hand fisting against the door as she stood her ground. ‘I _trust_ you, without any need for proof, Owen. You’ve allowed me that. They _are_ safe.’ Claire was convinced that nothing could come into her home and hurt her children whenever Owen was around. There was no reason to it. He exuded warmth, calm and safety. She never once considered how little they had known each other. Claire asked, Owen agreed - things between them were as simple as that. 

He stared at her, breathing heavily for beats too long before Owen exhaled a sigh. ‘I was in the military.’ Claire nodded, she had suspected as much. He kept to himself, closely guarded, a specific _manner_ about him. There was something else, sitting on the tip of his tongue desperate to come out but Owen held it back. Claire waited refusing to budge until his secrets spilled out.

Owen couldn’t tell her. 

‘You have helped me _so much_. If I can help you, Owen, I want to.’ Claire reached for his arm, curling her fingers around the muscle there as his skin tensed under her touch. She saw battle fields in his eyes, and vast expanses of ocean. The hurt there was endless, unforeseen and painful. 

Claire never backed down from a challenge. She watched Owen with a careful eye taking in every twitch in his mannerisms. It wasn’t hard to speculate the problem at hand. His fingers were trembling, wrists rattling, his breathing still heavy and rushed. He wouldn’t look her in the eye, instead darted around the room. He flinched, whole body moving an inch to the left when Isaac, on the floor behind them, let out a grunt. Claire wasn’t a medical professional, she had no experience in diagnosing soldiers with PTSD but she _felt_ she knew it when it stood in front of her. 

She moved to the side, disengaging the lock on the front door as she pulled it open. ‘I trust you.’ She told him, quietly reassuring that she wasn’t kicking him out or banishing the man from ever seeing her again. Instead, Claire wanted Owen to know that the door was open. If he felt he needed to leave, he could - but the option to stay was also there. 

Owen swiped his keys from the island and moved, with slight hesitation towards the door. Claire didn’t stop him, she let him leave as she shut the door behind him and moved for her sons. 

She didn’t suspect that he would walk back in her door an hour later. He stopped, Claire staring at him without a word. ‘You really need to lock that door,’ Owen told her in a scolding tone, worry evident. She played it off as knowing he would be there but Owen hated the idea of not knowing she was safe because she simply forgot.

He moved across the room, allowing himself back into her home as he scooped Ollie up from the play mat and cradled the smaller boy in his arms. It was always Ollie, Claire noted. Whenever something seemed to be troubling Owen it was always Oliver he reached for. He adored Isaac just as much, the young boy heavier than his brother, grumpier, a little more attitude. Owen loved the humour he found in the five-month-old, but Oliver seemed to save him - from everything. 

‘I’ll get you a key,’ She told him quietly with a shy smile handing over a bottle for Ollie before she turned to collect Isaac. They sat in silence while they fed both boys. It had made Owen uncomfortable at first, but he had grown used to it over the weeks, helping where help was needed. 

He watched Claire’s eyelashes kiss her cheeks for seconds too long, unable to keep her eyes open as she fed Isaac in her arms. He couldn’t help but feel a quick rush of guilt. He had been the one to rob her of her sleep, and thus the quality of her time with her sons. 

‘I - I have things … to sort through.’ Owen told her, stumbling around the words as he tried to find the right ones and inevitably failed. Claire raised her eyes to his, tilting her head at him curiously. ‘I just - Some things don’t make sense in my head anymore. I like you. I like the twins. I like spending time here. But, I don’t want to hurt any of you.’ Ollie raised a little hand above his body to smack it against Owen’s chest as the man held him, hand stroking the infant’s side as he held the bottle to his mouth. 

Claire shook her head. ‘It’s okay,’ Her voice was as quiet as the setting sun, brushing calm over his skin as day turned to night, promising better things to come. She was the tangerine sky in all it’s spectacular glory, soothing his soul as she _promised_ tomorrow. ‘I know you won’t do anything to them. I’m here, if you need to _talk_ I will listen.’ He nodded, not promising a thing, or willingness to spill his secrets. Claire felt she knew already, the exterior of the problem at least, the medical term and definition. She didn’t know the story but she was willing to wait. 

‘Or Ollie will.’ Claire added with a smile, watching the way Owen turned to look at the boy, complete trust and wonder etched across his face. He was the perfect image of loving, awestruck new father. That wasn’t who he was to Oliver, or Isaac, and yet it was the emotion he displayed every single time he picked up one or both of her boys. 

Claire couldn’t put her finger on who needed who more. She relied on Owen for sleep, but he relied on her and the boys for safe shelter; if only for an hour or two every couple of nights. It was a service Claire was willing to continue providing. 

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Owen repeated, humming to the boy as he ran a finger across the child’s small cheek. 

Claire shrugged, ‘I just do’. There was no thought to it at all, she didn’t have the option to _not_ after they were in her arms. ‘It’s hard work, but I’m glad they’re here.’ It was the first time Owen realised that there was another side of Claire. The woman who existed before her children and the choices she had to make. The reluctant mother he saw in her insecurities that contradicted herself with the loving dedication she clearly threw into their nursery. There had been a possibility of neither boy existing. ‘It takes two, clearly.’ Claire grinned nodding at Owen as they fed each boy in tandem. 

When Owen wasn’t there her boys had to learn patience, one waiting until the other had his belly filled. It was partly why she had resulted in bottle feeding one boy, while she breastfed the other. There was no waiting in line as she managed to juggle them both. Owen took the second boy off her hands when he was there. 

He hated the self deprecating laugh she forced out each time it was acknowledged that she was alone in this. Owen liked to remind her that she wasn’t completely alone. Her sister still wanted to help, and he was always a phone call away. She never rang. ‘Where is their father?’ He asked quietly, keeping the hushed tone of her home in his voice. 

Owen didn’t miss the way Claire’s body stiffened, even from a few feet away. He could practically hear her heart beating in her chest as she caught her breath. She couldn’t look at him. They had never spoken about it before, it had never come up. Owen never asked, it wasn’t any of his business but he couldn’t stop the question from rolling off his tongue. 

‘He’s not here.’ Claire answered quietly, and without emotion. Owen made a mental note not to ask her again. It was enough of an answer. She had told him once before that she wasn’t married and it was enough to settle qualms concerning his place in her life. So long as no one was going to shoo him away Owen was happy to let Claire keep her secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, let me know what you think, please and thank you. and if there's something you want to see in this fic, don't be afraid to let me know. i might be able to squeeze it in - if i haven't already thought of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this part. Don’t let me be as disappointed as I was last week with the lack of response. Speak to me people, tell me what you like. I have better things to do rather than writing fics for brick walls.

‘Where’re you goin’?’ Owen asked curiously as he approached Claire’s car. She was buried inside it, trying to secure Oliver’s capsule into the base, Isaac strapped into his at her feet. She was cursing, as though neighbours couldn’t possibly hear the sound echoing from her garage. At the sound of Owen’s voice, Claire pulled herself out of the car with a huff. She smiled at him as she reached for Isaac’s seat, Owen beating her to it. 

‘The store.’ She told him easily, arms crossed over her chest as she followed him around the car. 

Owen stopped, ‘Why’re you takin’ the boys?’ It seemed like a no brainer that she wait for him to get there. It was a Tuesday after all, Owen hadn’t missed one in a little over a month. He had to admit, he had never spent solo time with either child without Claire being in the house, or the cafe, or a stall over at the market. She was always there, and where she trusted him to watch her boys while she slept she had not given him the trust without her presence.

Claire shrugged, checking the time on her watch as though it were a common occurrence for Owen to visit during the day. Time had passed by quicker than Claire liked to have thought, but there she was, at 5pm loading her sons into the car. ‘I thought it’d be nice to get out of the house for a little bit - plus I’m four soiled diapers away from having a shortage crisis.’ 

Owen managed to lock the capsule in without a hitch, irritating Claire at his ability to pick everything up at once. It had to be a height thing, he held a slight advantage over her in that department. There was no other excuse as to why he had managed without a struggle. 

He hummed, agreeing with her quietly not that he had any reason to. ‘Do you want to join us?’ Claire asked, nonchalant. He was there already, and although Claire admitted that they boys had napped earlier - having been exhausted from a late night. She would still enjoy his company that had become so routine it almost felt like breathing. 

They didn’t talk about his panic attack, or whatever it was Claire had witnessed a few weeks previously. It sat between them as quietly as her snoozing sons; never waking. Claire was leaving it for Owen to address knowing he would when he felt the time had come. There was no use in pushing him to talk, it would only force the man further away and selfishly, Claire liked having him around. 

Owen didn’t have to think twice before accepting Claire’s offer, checking Isaac was secure before he rounded the car for the passenger side. ‘You know, if you ever need anything but can’t get out to get it. You can call me.’ He didn’t know exactly how she got his number, it was a small detail his mind had already washed away. He knew she had it, just as he had hers. Rarely was it used for more than the occasional picture of the twins Claire sent through like a weekly email. Owen didn’t know why she chose him, much like he didn’t know why he chose her - sitting in his sisters’ work place struggling with fussy infants. He had taken pity, shown remorse, and offered a friendly hand. It could have ended there but it didn’t. Instead, it blossomed to shared pictures and afternoons. He had stayed in her home well past dinner time, offering to cook and doing so on more than one occasion. And now, he was sitting in the passenger seat of her car, Mozart playing through the speakers softly as she drove them to the supermarket. 

It wasn’t his first time in a store since he had come home and yet Owen couldn’t help but feel his blood pressure rise. They were in the parking lot, Claire pulling the boys out of the car. ‘Do you want me to wait here, you only need diapers right? I’ll watch the boys.’ Claire shook her head, giving him a slight frown with the admission that she needed a lot more than _diapers_. She watched the way his fingers curled into his palm, fear sliding across his face. 

‘It’ll be fine. I’ll try to make it as pain free as possible.’ He still had the option to back down if he wanted to, but the boys were going in with Claire regardless of his decision. 

Owen stood beside the car dumbly holding her bag, watching as Claire plucked one boy out of his carseat, after the other. She turned to him before locking the doors, question in her eyes asking if he was joining her or staying behind. Owen swallowed, nodding at her softly as he took a step forward. Claire’s grin was magic, something akin to pride shinning in her eyes as she leant towards him with her left hip, Isaac holding onto her there. He knew the movement without the words, she was asking silently if he could take the boy. 

Secretly, Owen loved watching her with a child on each hip. It was a primal interest, but one he adored none the less. She was too stunning for words, the image alone exuding her motherly prowess as well as the intense business woman she still was … waiting to return from maternity leave.

‘I trust you,’ She told him, knowing that if he could occupy his thoughts elsewhere, he could make it through their short trip. He had to hold Isaac, boy heavy in his arms, already trying to drool on his shirt as Claire, stepped in front of him, and crossed the car park. 

His anxiety was fleeting, rising in his chest before dissipating, making itself scarce easily. He followed behind Claire pushing a twin seater trolley, Oliver the only one strapped into it, a blanket from home stretched between the boy and the seat. Owen held onto Isaac like a lifeline despite the fact that he didn’t need it. The boy was pure comfort, babbling at Owen every few minutes as Claire stopped to inspect things on shelves before adding them to the trolley. 

‘When was the last time you shopped?’ Owen teased her, noting that the basket was filling and they hadn’t even made it to the diapers yet. Claire shrugged, claiming she wasn’t entirely sure. She had a few staples that she collected from the farmers market, anything after that - she likely had lived without since Karen left. ‘You know they deliver now? You can order everything online and they’ll bring it to you. It saves the hassle.’ 

‘I like doing _my_ shopping,’ She hummed, strolling along the isles. 

Owen remained mostly quiet as he watched Claire peruse nutritional information from box to box. Isaac, in the meantime had wound his hand into a fistful of Owen’s shirt and gnawed at it until it was soaked through, grumbling as he did so. He hated soggy t-shirts, but the sound of the infant half growling always amused Owen to open laughter. 

‘I know, bud. We’re gonna be stuck here forever and she hasn’t even fed you.’ He made it sound like a scandal, Claire rolling her eyes a step ahead of him. ‘I wish I could help, but you know me. Wrong equipment.’ Something caught in his throat as he spoke to the boy, idea lodged mid thought process. 

He caught up to Claire in two strides, plucking a box of water crackers from the cart and prying them open. ‘Owen!’ Claire shrieked, trying to snatch the box from him before he could cause any damage. ‘You can’t do that, I haven’t paid for it.’ She seemed scandalised as he opened it and tore the plastic, pulling out a cracker for Isaac and handing it to the boy’s chubby fingers. 

‘Oh, relax, it’s still a box of crackers even when it’s opened. Not gonna change the price at the register.’ 

She rolled her eyes, ‘You’re the kind of person who pinches grapes while they’re shopping, aren’t you?’

Owen grinned his smile wide and full of teeth. Maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her he had grapes stashed in his pocket, Owen plucking one out every time she wasn’t looking. ‘Hell yeah, and if I didn’t think he’d choke on it or add it to the liquid content of my shirt, Isaac would definitely be munching on grapes right now.’ Claire just stared at him, mouth agape. ‘Claire, it’s not the end of the world.’ Owen grinned, leaning in close as he dropped the now open box of crackers to Isaac’s vacant seat. His hand graced the small of her back, pressing there for a second as he stared at her, unable to remove his grin. 

‘Owen?’ A voice reached them, unsure but certain enough that it called his name loud enough for him to hear. At first, Owen thought they were mistaken. Though he had not predicted how uncommon his name really was for grown men approaching their thirties. ‘Owen Grady?’ It was female, and curiosity as well as a polite nature caused him to turn. 

He recognised her instantly, the woman a few steps behind them. Her hair was blonde, her eyes still a bright blue. She was shorter than he remembered which was nothing compared to everything else. She was exactly the same; Ashlee Walker, Owen’s high school sweetheart. 

‘I thought it was you!’ She stepped towards him with a large grin, the same bubbly young woman she had always been. ‘You have a son,’ She gushed, like everyone seemed to do when they noticed others had managed to procreate and only recently too. ‘Twins!’ She noticed Oliver squawking in the trolley just past Claire’s shoulder. ‘Oh my god. You must be so proud.’

Owen was caught, he didn’t know what to say or how to explain. What could he do? Politely inform Ashlee that she as wrong, his life suddenly wasn’t as amazing as she thought it was. It was the honest thing, and yet another five minutes of embarrassed conversation as he tried to explain. 

If he was being honest with himself, that was what he had always wanted. A beautiful wife, kids, the perfect house and pets. He was seventeen and thought he had it all figured out, right down to the names he would have given his future offspring. Ashlee knew all that back in high school, she was the one he thought he would have all of that with.

‘I’m Claire,’ The redhead beside him interjected, waving politely at Ashlee who was gushing over her son, Claire’s hand extended in a formal greeting. Owen held his breath, he could hear the words on her tongue, the glass walls of his sudden pretend world shattering. ‘His fiancee.’ She offered, delivering the final - but unexpected - blow. Owen couldn’t help but stare at her as Ashlee took Claire’s hand and introduced herself. 

‘Wow, I mean; wow. It’s so good to see you again, and you have a _family._ Owen,’ She sighed with the same teenage longing she held years ago. ‘I’m so glad, you found this. Your boys are beautiful.’ He wanted to return the curtesy, ask Ashlee about herself, what she had been doing since they broke up after graduation. She excused herself sweetly, before he could, disappearing the way she had come as Owen stared at Claire and as Claire wiped biscuit drool from Isaac’s little chin. 

Claire didn’t say anything for the rest of their time in the store, seeking out the boxes of diapers before heading to the registers, casually asking Owen his opinion on specific items. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. The last ten years he lived off base food, or what had a long shelf life in his militaryissue housing.

He didn’t know what to say until they’d returned to her house, Claire unpacking her groceries easily Ollie and Isaac grizzling in their capsules to be fed. ‘Why’d you do it?’ Owen asked, watching as she puttered around the kitchen, from his position, slouching on a bar stool, his shoeless foot rocking Oliver in an attempt to quieten him. 

‘Do what?’ Claire asked, and he knew by the tell on her face that she was bluffing him. 

‘Why did you tell Ashlee we were engaged?’ Claire had nothing to gain from that, there was no reason as to why she told Ashlee that he wanted to marry her. They had known each other for a small handful of months, a little less than the time in which her sons had been alive. Surely there would have been more fun in correcting the woman. At least, that was the approach Owen’s sisters were more than happy to take.

Claire stopped, pressed up on her tiptoes as she tried to slide a cereal box into the cabinet above the fridge. ‘Maybe I wanted to?’ She told him, flush clear on her cheeks behind the veil of her orange hair. He was trying not to focus on the line of her legs, following them as she stretched. Unfortunately it was harder than it seemed to drag himself away from her, especially when she was puzzling him. 

‘Why would you want to do that?’ He was oblivious, watching her with innocent eyes as Clairesummoned courage to round the bench slowly. She shrugged at him lazily, stepping around the carseats that held her grumbling infants. 

He should have seen it coming. Owen played it off to being out of practice, uncertain on the signs as Claire slinked towards him. Her hands slid across his face as she bent to greet him, her fingers cold against his skin. Her nails scratched across his rough stubble, her lips soft as silk when she brushed them against his own. The touch was fleeting, testing the waters before she pulled away, leaving the ball in his court. 

‘Maybe because I wanted to do _that?_ ’ Claire suggested, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she watched emotion race across his face. 

Owen reached for her, a hand shyly catching her hip to bring her back to him. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ His voice was low, catching like gravel on the bottom of her shoes. He reached for her hand two of his fingers wrapping around one of hers as he pulled himself into a stand. The difference between them was enough that he had to look down at her, Claire pressing up on the tips of her toes to meet his mouth for a second kiss. Her body reaching in straight lines to reach him. 

‘Maybe I should have,’ She grinned against his skin, stubble scratching her cheek as Owen wrapped his hands around her waist. They were caught for what felt like eternity, their lips locked, skin touching skin, in the purist, most unadulterated way. He grumbled when she tried to pull away, the boys raising the bar on their noise. ‘Now you just sound like Isaac,’ She teased drawing a line between Owen and the grizzly boy. 

He let her go, reluctantly, stealing a last kiss before admiring the embarrassed flush on her cheeks and cloud in her eyes. Shy like a school girl after her first kiss Owen couldn’t help to admire her. ‘Are you going help? Or are you going to sit there and fantasise?’ Claire asked the back of her hand tapping his leg as she pulled Isaac out of his carseat with a grunt. 

Owen grinned, nodding eagerly as he swiped the bottle she had left on the bench. ‘Always a step behind, hey, Ollie.’ Owen teased, lifting Oliver out of his carseat. The baby gurgled in response, slight frown on his tiny features. 

Carrying Oliver into the living room where Claire was already settled, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy’s expression, his finger tapping his cheek in good humour. If it meant security and laughter for eternity, he would happily remain a step behind Claire Dearing. If it was where he could no longer think about the things he had done and the people he had hurt; he could be happy. 

She had kissed him, willingly touched her lips to his in a gentle encounter. She had giggled against his mouth, the sound and feel slithering across his skin, humming in the most delicate of ways. Instantly, she had put a spell on him. Forever trapped in her attentions, and willing to stay. 

Owen’s heart had not stopped pounding, it was beating heavily in his chest making him dizzy and lightheaded. He wasn’t a celibate man, but it had been a long while since he had _deeply_ cared about the woman whose fingers were in his hair. She had touched him with the delicacy of angels and scarred him all the same. Owen was sure her fingers were burned against his cheeks. Her children, for the most part, already seemed to have engrained themselves into his ribs securing their place in a world without a father; Owen their quick substitute. 

It terrified him, how calm he was on the matter. The twins were not his, nor would they ever be and yet he was not running away at the thought of a woman and her lonely sons. It only made him stay. Granted, had he met Claire minus infants, he would have followed her to the ends of the earth on the very same day. Her children were not a condition to why he stuck around, but rather a small bonus. He loved kids, ever since he was one himself. There was a distinctive decade between himself and his little sisters, which only chuffed young Owen Grady. He was used to a big house full of children, and helping his mother with feeding routines. This was no different, other than the fact that he had already given a piece of his heart to Claire and her boys without them asking for it. 

He was always a step behind. Owen had said it jokingly. He was unaware of the thoughts in Claire’s head, but still, she let him stay, she kissed him and he hoped it would happen again. Owen was not the ruler of this court, he had to allow Claire to make her moves and have her say. He would not push her under this sun or any other. He liked his place there, tucked into the corner of the couch, infant tucked into his arm, bottle pressed to the little boy’s mouth as Oliver tried to hold onto his fingers and his bottle at the same time. 

Right now, this was a safe place. He was comfortable, felt secure and no one there passed judgement on him, inwardly or outwardly. 

[…]

He helped to settle the boys for bed when the time came. The both of them snuggled down with him as Claire vowed to wash the dishes that were turning into a mountain in her sink. He read to them, animating voices from a book they couldn’t understand yet, as Claire’s laughter reached out to them, tickling their ears as the sun went to bed. 

Owen loved the warmth that found them in those moments. Little boys snug with droopy eyes, smelling of baby soap fresh from their bath were his favourite kind. Ollie and Isaac knew how to make noise, how to laugh and have fun … they even knew how to be angry. Nothing was better than their tired little selves, willing to go to bed over everything else. 

Claire returned in time to carry them to bed, cradling her littlest boy in her arms sweetly before she lowered him into his crib. They watched eyelids flutter and close before they stepped away from the cribs and backed out of the room. 

His hand barely left the handle of the nursery door before Claire pulled Owen down to her level and kissed him hard. He stumbled into it without thought, allowing Claire to pull and nip at his skin with urgency. Owen couldn’t find the voice to protest when her hand fisted in the bottom of his shirt and pulled him towards her bedroom. There was no turning down her sly smile, or the cold fingers on his skin. 

Claire gave him the opportunity to change his mind, countless chances to get up and walk out the door with no hard feelings if he didn’t want to go through with this. He was the one who dropped to his knees, peppering kisses across her stomach as he pushed her shirt up in an attempt to get rid of it. Owen fixated on the scar that lived there, given as a reminder that her sons had once lived under her skin and in their temperamental nature could not get out without assistance. 

With his attention on her skin Claire grew antsy, her hands fisted in his hair yanking Owen up as she fell back on the bed behind her. She giggled when his fingers graced her sides, pushing at her t-shirt again, this time getting it over her head, not without her arms getting stuck for a second. 

Claire’s laughter turned to quiet little moans the second Owen had her free from her tangled shirt, his lips on her skin, flipping the switch on her thoughts. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I took the happy cheerful bit off the end of this part - because it was too long. Which means more work for me. It instead will be the new chapter six and I am ever so sorry for this.

Owen knew how easy it would be for things to get messy between them. But, he didn’t think it would be confusing, in fact he thought if their friendship fell apart that they would break away from it all without issue. She was the one with children he had no claim to. All it would take was her word and he would be gone. 

Claire never said a thing, never asked him to go and thus Owen thought it was okay that he was there. It was, Claire had no issue, but she was starting to send mixed messages. 

In his arms, the morning after she had pulled him into her bedroom Claire was all pink cheeks and messy hair. She was giggles in the early morning sun, as her boys - on the monitor - grizzled for their mom. She let him peck at her skin, with sloppy but loving kisses drawing out their morning in hopes that it would never end. Claire was his every focus, in the space of one night.

They remained like that for three weeks. Lazy kissing and unconditional love, nothing more than Owen hanging back each night to worship her skin with every ounce of his being and the permission she gave him. He was in too deep in a heartbeat, she would have to gouge him out of her skin, stripping herself raw before the memory was gone. Owen was scared he had etched himself so far that there were marks left on her bones, buried himself so deep that even her soul had been touched by his own. 

He felt indestructible. Nothing could touch him so long as Claire was the one who loved him. Not that she had used that word. Owen, however, was one more breathy little moan away from accidentally saying it. It sat between them, invisible but present, clawing at his skin, begging to be let out. 

Together they flourished, basking in the intimate attention of the other after the boys had gone to bed. Owen thought they couldn’t go anywhere but up, they were heading for the galaxies ready to burst into starlight when Claire pulled him back down to earth. 

‘It’s not a date,’ Claire told him for the fourth time with a stern growl. Owen was having a hard time believing her. His heart had been sitting in his gut since the previous afternoon. Claire had announced calmly, that she needed him to watch the boys while she went out. He only pouted at her, jealousy stirring in his stomach as she paced around her bedroom, looking for something she couldn’t place. ‘It’s just a meeting with one of the bigwigs from the office.’ 

Claire stopped in front of him, Owen sitting on the stool at the end of her bed, both boys sitting in his lap. All three of them looked miserable, igniting guilt in the pit of her belly, all for leaving them. They seemed practically helpless, despite the fact that she knew they would be perfectly fine. Her eyes were playing tricks on her, her conscious lending a hand. If she wasn’t lying to them she wouldn’t have been uneasy - she wouldn’t have been leaving at all. 

Claire raised an eyebrow at Owen as he sulked, her hands to her ear as she tried to fasten her earring. ‘You’re sure dressed up mighty fine for a business meetin’.’ Owen didn’t miss the way Claire hesitated, ceasing all movement for a second as she swallowed hard. He was used to seeing her in jeans, causal wear and no effort. The dress was something new, it looked expensive, borderline _fancy_ and definitely a little too much for meeting with her boss. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the face of a woman he had known for months, now covered in make-up, looking not quite like herself. Better yet, he wanted to tuck the boys into their cribs and carefully deconstruct her outfit. He wanted to demonstrate primal need and claim, instructing that she didn’t need to do herself up in that way, if only to keep her away from ogling eyes. 

‘It’s just business.’ She muttered, turning her back to him as she rifled through a small jewellery box. 

Owen scoffed, ‘You’re on maternity leave’. 

‘Owen - just drop it.’ She growled in response, throwing a bracelet back into the box with a little more force than needed. Owen bit his tongue suddenly aware of a line he was very dangerously toeing. It was easier to not aggravate Claire, even though he was still unaware of what was on the other side of her wrath. 

Her eyes were hollow when she turned back around, plucking Oliver from his lap as she stormed out of the room, talking to the little boy who only gurgled back. He followed her to the living room, watching as she tucked Oliver into his bouncer before heading for the door. She came back to kiss Isaac’s head, Owen holding the boy absently as he watched anger sizzle in her eyes. 

‘I’ll be back later,’ She told him, hand gracing over Isaac’s brown tuft of hair before she left for the door and passed through it. 

Owen stared at the space she had vacated, watching the wood as though he could will her back through the entrance. It unnerved him to no end to hear that she was going out. _It was business,_ he had no right to discount her words as false but he had been uneasy ever since she announced her plans. It wasn’t just her words, but the skittish manner she adopted around the subject. The closer the night drew the more irritable Claire had become. Owen wanted to put it down to nerves, insecurity in going back to work. But, something wouldn’t let him.

‘What am I gonna do, boys?’ He grumbled to the children in front of him, scrubbing a hand over his face. Owen didn’t own Claire, no matter how he felt when they were together. There were no specific terms to their arrangement, no rule or line that said they were exclusive. Regardless, he felt rejected. 

[…]

The boys were asleep when she slipped through the door, the clock in the kitchen ticking closer to midnight than 10pm. Owen was waiting for her, sitting on the lounge, TV on with the sound off. He studied her in the hallway light, taking in every inch of her applied perfection and they way it had worn off. 

As much as Owen wanted to ignore them alarm bells were ringing in his head. She had left with stockings on and returned with none, most of her make-up had rubbed away and her hair - that he watched her meretriciously straighten had fallen out of her up do in odd angles, completely redesigned and curled. It wasn’t humid outside, nor had it rained. The weather was perfectly fine and yet she was dishevelled. 

For Owen, it meant one thing. It was _not_ a business meeting. Claire Dearing had gone on a date - although why she felt the need to lie to him, he wasn’t too sure - and come home reorganised by a man who wasn’t Owen. Someone else had touched her that night, kissed her, and _loved_ her, all while he was at home watching _her_ kids. 

He felt anger stir in his belly, mixing with inadequacy for the millionth time that evening. Claire didn’t move. ‘Claire?’ Owen called out to her, pushing himself up off the couch as the tension in his stomach dissipated. She flinched when his voice hit her ears, setting off a different kind of alarm in Owen’s head. He approached her slowly, creeping across the room like she was a flighty animal waiting for the predator to accidentally announce itself. ‘Hey, everything okay?’

She came to when his fingers graced the skin of her arm, Claire turning on a smile that could barely light her own heart let alone shake away his worries. Her bottom lip wobbled and her eyes watered as she nodded at him softly. 

‘Can you stay the night?’ She asked so delicately Owen thought she would break if he said no. He wanted to hold her instantly, to tuck her into his arms and push all her worries away. She had left angry with him, frustrated at a situation and now she seemed _hollow_. 

Owen nodded, ‘Yeah, ah, sure,’ He agreed. Owen was no stranger to spending the night, although her mood usually wasn’t as emotionally compromised. A spare change of clothes lived, stuffed, in her bottom drawer since the second time he had been on nap duty. Babies were messy and known to be a little explosive at times Owen was never caught without something to change into. There was no excuse to go home and even if there was he wouldn’t have left. ‘Are you okay?’ He asked again watching the ghostly planes of her face. Claire nodded. ‘Did he hurt you?’ His hands were on her now, both of them running over her arms. 

She caught an expression before it managed to dance across her face. ‘No,’ Her eye roll was watery. ‘I’m fine, tired.’ She brushed him off, her hands sliding his from her shoulders as she slipped out of her shoes and moved for the stairs. 

Something was wrong. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. What had been anger building in his gut earlier quickly changed direction. He was no longer angry with Claire but rather the man she had been out with, the one who sent her home completely shattered. 

He followed her upstairs, turning out the lights as she bypassed the nursery. Owen took it upon himself to check in on the boys, the other half of the baby monitor in his hand as he peered over their cribs to watch their chests rise and fall. 

Cassie had been terrified of SIDS when her daughter was born, that fear stretched to Owen while they stayed in his base allocated home. He found himself on most nights when he couldn’t sleep sitting beside his niece’s crib just watching her breathe. It was a habit he knew he would never outgrow so long as an infant was in his care. 

Claire was in the bathroom, shower on by the time he reached her bedroom. He rummaged through her bottom drawer for his clothes, seething all the while. Owen couldn’t help but think of what had happened. She had shut off completely, that alone terrified him.

He saw himself back down to the living room, passing the linen cupboard on his way for a spare pillow and blanket. He wondered briefly when he had become so attuned to her home, the small ins and outs of it no longer a secret. Maybe he was in too deep if he knew that much. This was supposed to be clean cut. Nothing ever was with him, Owen didn’t know why he bothered. Claire had committed herself and her sons as his safe keepers, his easy place of rest. He relied on them too much now. 

He was trying to think of ways to track down the man Claire had met that night, head resting on the arm of her sofa, his eyes closed. He heard her creep down the stairs, but didn’t turn. Owen expected that she was down there for a glass of water, or the baby monitor he had kept for himself. He was willing to get up for the boys in the night, especially if Claire wasn’t feeling her complete self. 

‘Owen?’ He had never heard her voice so quiet or so small. ‘Why are you out here?’ She sounded like a child and instantly he knew his thought to keep out of her way was ridiculous. There was a terrified fear in the depths of her voice, enough that the feeling transferred to Owen. It was enough for him to pull himself from the sofa and follow her back up the stairs. 

Claire had turned the sheets down already, making it easier for her to climb into the bed ahead of him, as Owen followed slipping in on _his_ side. The lamp was turned off, the room bathed in the silver glow of the moon and nothing else. The baby monitor crackled behind his head as Claire waited for him to get settled before she curled herself into him. 

Owen listened to her breathe, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his own as he wrapped his arms around her giving into the inevitable hold. It took five minutes for Claire to start crying, hot tears soaking his shirt as her sniffles turned into sobs. 

‘Claire,’ His voice was low, gravelly, vibrating against the top of her head as Owen tucked her under his chin. ‘You’re not okay.’ A large hand of his rubbed across her back pulling lines up and down in what Owen hoped was a soothing motion. He tried not to think of how small she was, his hand spanning a good portion of her back as he willed her tears to stop. 

Her muscles under his hand softened almost immediately, not entirely but enough that Owen knew he was helping. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’ Her fingers wound themselves in his shirt, playing with the fabric like Isaac did, minus the drool. ‘I’m so sorry,’ She cried, body shaking as she touched her fingers to his face. 

‘I swear to God Claire, if he hurt you I’ll beat the shit outta him.’ She shifted around him, wrapping a leg around his thigh. ‘Do you have to work with this asshole everyday? Honestly, I can get him fired if you want.’ 

Claire’s hand on his shirt coiled a little tighter. ‘You don’t even know what happened.’ She sighed and Owen could have sworn that she kissed his chest lightly. 

‘Tell me then,’ He pushed, unintentionally, just desperate to know what happened. 

She shook her head under his, claiming tiredness and a want to put it all behind her. ‘He’s gone, you don’t have to worry about me.’ She told him quietly, eyes closed against his warmth as he listened to her breathe him in. 

‘I think I’m always going to worry about you, Claire.’ Owen whispered to the top of her head as he kissed her hair. Silence lingered between them, Owen listening to the small puffs of her breath trying to find his courage in her steady rhythm. ‘I was told to step down from my post six months ago.’ He breathed heavily, sighing across the top of her head as Claire’s hands tightened their grip. ‘My higher ups discharged me on medical grounds after a mission went wrong. Under my watch, half the squadron died. It all fell to misinformation, but I was the one that called the shots. I knew it sounded off, I knew I shouldn’t have pushed forward but I did.’ 

‘Owen,’ Claire sighed, trying to pull herself closer to him. He didn’t have to share with her, he didn’t have to tell her. The door was open if ever he needed it, but Claire never expected he would take her up on her offer. 

‘We were pulled out of there - what was left of us. I woke in a hospital bed 3 weeks later with a bum leg and PTSD. They sent me home.’ She had noticed a slight limp when he walked, but thought nothing of it other than a peculiar gait, until now. ‘You don’t need to know the details.’ He told her, leaving the gates open for further conversation. 

Claire _really_ didn’t want to talk about her night. She told him that much, with a definite kiss to his chest as she thanked him for sharing. She would open up to him, at some point, when she had found the same comfort he had in her embrace. He knew she would need her time, Owen didn’t expect Claire to open up after ten minutes of silence. 

She cursed first, her hand balling into a fist against his chest, hitting him slightly. ‘He’s ruined this too.’ Claire pushed herself away from Owen, scrambling to sit up and pull her legs to her chest. Owen kept a hand on her, securing a point of contact. ‘Fuck.’ Claire hissed under her breath, hands scrubbing at her face. 

‘Claire?’ Owen asked, more to centre her than an actual inquiry. He didn’t want to step on her toes, to catch the words before they were out. But, he had to prod, to encourage them or else he feared she would lock them away again. It was burning at him, itching under his skin like something was desperate to get out. He had to know. Had the tables been turned, had she pulled information out of him about his duties in the navy - Owen would have shut her out, cursed at her for no boundaries. He shouldn’t have done it to her. 

‘I didn’t know what to do, Owen.’ She sniffled, burying her head against her arm. He didn’t even know what she had done, not for certain. It was written across her face, her aversion, her body language that it wasn’t entirely the best thing in the world. ‘Rob,’ She wobbled out and Owen knew immediately. He was her boss. The man who hired her, whom of which she worked directly under. 

‘Your boss?’ She bit her lip, unable to look at him as she nodded softly. Owen could taste something bitter on his tongue, anger licking up the sides of his throat as he blinked at her unsure of what to expect. He couldn’t tell if the emotions stewing within him was directed at Claire, or the man she worked for. 

‘He, ah - Rob and I … he’s the boys’ father.’ Her bottom lip wobbled, face pinching as she fought off another wave of tears. ‘I slept with him.’ The look on his face had to have been bad considering the way Claire recoiled when she managed to meet his eye. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Claire reached for Owen, stopping midway to pull her hand back to herself. ‘He threatened mu job - I was scared he would go for the boys.’ Her voice wobbled, fresh tears bubbling in her eyes. ‘I just, I was scared and it was the only thing I knew that would pacify him.’ She wrapped her arms around her legs tighter, trying to lock the rest of the world out. 

Claire felt that she didn’t deserve to explain herself. That it was enough she had gone out and effectively cheated on Owen. There were no clear terms on who they were to one another. Claire considered herself a loyal person. She was loyal to Robert, even though he was cheating on his wife. Claire called it off the same day the stick turned pink, yelling at him in his office after dark. Through tears and a hollow voice she begged him to leave her alone, to go back to his wife, to stop pretending as though he was there for her. 

She couldn’t tell Owen that it was necessity at first, an empty part of herself that felt cherished around the manipulative man. Claire considered herself sick, Karen called her innocent. Owen should have called her a liar, a whore, a slut, unfaithful - an unfit mother. Worse. She deserved everything he was going to throw at her, Claire was ready for the punishment, for the sinking look of betrayal on his face. Owen was singlehandedly one of the best things that had ever happened to her, aside from the twins. She couldn’t loose him, but she was convinced he wouldn’t want her after this. 

Instead, he didn’t say anything. Only watched her, leaving Claire to ramble. ‘It didn’t mean anything. I swear. I just - all I could think about was the boys … and you. He, ah, Rob. He’s never seen them.’ Owen already knew she had claimed _father unknown_ on the twins’ birth certificates. Legally, there was nothing Rob could do other than demand a DNA test. ‘Biologically they are his, but God. I wish they weren’t. They deserve a good father. They deserve _you_.’ She stuttered on a shaky breath, averting her eyes, unable to look at his face. ‘You probably hate me now. You know, I don’t blame you.’

‘Was it the last time?’ He asked her, watching her face with curious hurt. Claire couldn’t hold back the sob, floodgates breaking open as she broke down. She nodded with vigour, promising she would avoid Robert Doyle to the best of her ability. There would be no return to his bed, not now, not ever. 

Owen surprised her - surprised himself - when he tugged her back against his chest, his lips pressed to the top of her head. Claire tried to wriggle away from him, her hands on his shoulder begging him to let her go in a weak voice. 

He held her tightly, squeezing her to him as he pressed his face into her hair. ‘I’m not letting you go, Claire.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget, feedback is admired.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is up like 14 hours early because I have an assignment to do and already have enough distractions. 
> 
> As always, nice words are appreciated.

Neither of them spoke about Claire’s revelation. They barely acknowledged it beyond her puffy eyes in the morning, and the hurt look he was unable to scrub from his face. They woke, rousing from the night as though they’d managed to gain hangovers while they slept. Their heads pounded, their minds were numb and neither was capable of tending to the grouchy little boys that demanded their help. 

Owen didn’t know if he should have left as soon as soon as the boys settled after their morning feed. Once Claire offered him breakfast of his own, the smell of toast not completely disgusting, he couldn’t help but have a slice with her. He poured the orange juice as she buttered the bread, neither of them speaking as Ollie smacked something against the dining chairs and Isaac sat at their feet, begging for a stick of Owen’s crust. 

Despite the cool air and the adult silence. Things managed to slot right back into normal without a single word. 

Friday night turned into Saturday morning. He slept in her bed but neither of them touched beyond Claire snuggling down against his chest. Owen didn’t know if he could kiss her without seeing red. His own anger mixed with her smudged lipstick and Robert Doyle’s blood. He was having flashes again, his own hands taking the life of another man but this time the remorse did not come. 

They ventured back to the farmers market, his hand hovering over the small of her back. They took turn with each of the boys, one on each hip or Owen carrying the both of them. It was a ploy to stop him from feeding them - mostly Isaac - at every given opportunity. It was a routine they knew, safe, comfortable. They avoided his sisters’ cafe, silently understanding that the girls would recognise something was wrong. Although something was, neither of them wanted to express the words to family. 

His mother was hosting a family dinner in a matter of weeks, ringing around ahead of time to ensure her busy children would be there. She had extended and invitation to Claire, one he hadn’t told her about yet. If they couldn’t face his sister’s, terrified of their cracks being shown, then there was no way they could face his mother.

Owen watched the stall keepers grin at them, the four as a collective or just the boys. Claire wandered ahead on occasion, caught in her own mind as she bent to inspect products. He wanted to know what she was thinking when she stopped at a familiar stall, happily smiling at Louise as the woman talked about soap.

It was their element. A safe zone. Until people started complimenting them as a family, their hands gracing the boys’ knuckles, their sing song voices announcing that his _wife_ _must be so proud_. Something unpleasant stirred in his gut. Claire didn’t feel like his anymore. The fantasy he had wrapped himself in felt tarnished. She had apologised over and over again, begging for his forgiveness. He gave it, but something still didn’t sit right. Claire broke his trust, half lost his respect. He adored her for the headstrong woman that she was, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

Owen wanted so badly to go back to what they had. The daydream delusion that this was his life, his wife, his sons. He wanted the awe and admiration on other people’s faces to feel genuine without a bad feeling sitting in his gut. 

Claire was beside him again, nodding politely towards Emma, the girl pulling Claire’s favourite flowers into a bouquet as they spoke. Isaac, on Owen’s left hip, caught a tight fistful of his mother’s red hair between his fingers. The boy’s forced connection only encouraged Claire to step closer, her arm brushing against his as she tried to untangle herself from the infant, cooing at the boy as she did. 

He hated the minutes that dragged like hours as they moved to leave. The market was a tranquil place filled to the brim with noise and smells, sweet and sour mixing together, joy and impatient children. It was Claire’s purist element - outside of the house. Inside it was only her bellow him, or above, cheeks flushed pink, breath ragged sighing his name on a constant loop. But this, the market, the warm spring air. This was Claire Dearing, smelling candles, tasting turkish delight, flirting with each and every stall holder no matter their sex. 

That morning, he didn’t want to leave. Owen wanted to stay in the lazy buzz of market brewed coffee and the weight of an infant in each arm. He did not want to walk the short distance back to her home or step through the door. He knew the second they did, the spell would be broken and they would need to talk. 

Owen couldn’t help but notice the way she avoided him once they reached her home. Claire kept her back to him, reorganising the flowers she bought into vases, setting herself up in the kitchen to clear away the few remaining dishes. 

‘I was hired with the company straight out of college.’ He thought for a moment that she wasn’t even speaking to him, just the universe, watching a light breeze sway the trees in her backyard. ‘That was six years ago. Robert barely looked in my direction. I don’t think he knew my name until a two years ago.’ She laughed almost bitterly, turning from the kitchen sink to face him. Her eyes were on her hands, fingers intertwined. ‘My dad died,’ Claire sighed, ‘I wasn’t quite ready for it. I lost all focus at work, I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping. I was falling apart. I guess Rob saw me as easy pickings.’

Rob was kind to her. That’s what she noticed at first. The man had never managed to look in her direction, treated her as if she didn’t exist despite Claire steadily climbing the corporate ladder since she was hired. He offered a shoulder to cry on one night, the two of them the only souls in the office. 

Claire knew he was married. She didn’t want to be the other woman, or someone who destroyed a home. For a few months nothing happened. Rob made her feel loved, he filled a whole in her chest that gapped open with the death of her last living parent. 

It could have ended in simple comfort, letting her talk through her grief but when Robert made a move, Claire followed through willing to thank him for his kindness in any means. She was vulnerable and weak, desperate for affection. 

She should have gone home, spent some time with Karen rather than sleeping with her boss but Claire never managed to do things the right way when it came to family. Her father was the only one that managed to keep the lines of communication open between the two sisters. 

Claire called it off the morning after, quietly stepping into her boss’ office to warn it would never happen again. She had every intention of sticking to her guns, until Rob threatened the loss of an upcoming promotion. 

‘He forced your hand?’ Owen asked, knowing as much from the previous night. Blackmail. Robert Doyle manipulated his hardworking, sweet natured employee into sleeping with him.

Claire chuckled at herself, the sound sour on her tongue and bitter in Owen’s ears. ‘I never got that promotion.’ She shook her head, hands scrubbing at her face as she rolled her eyes. ‘I did get pregnant, though. Two days after I found out I was pregnant, I stayed back after work just to shout at him until I was blue in the face.’ Claire had thought they were careful, using two kinds of contraceptives and being completely aware that they were needed. ‘I swore never again. I didn’t care what he wanted to threaten me with. I was numb with the news, completely terrified and in that empowered. Karen was offering her couch for me to crash on, told me to relocate, to redesign my life. I am happy here. I love the city and the environment. It’s home. It’s where my dad set me up, confident that it was where I would stay. I didn’t want to give up that easily.’ 

The fact that his wife would drag him through the courts if she knew he had gotten someone pregnant was strapped to Claire’s weak arsenal. It kept Rob at bay, the man agreeing to leave her be. She wanted to keep the small life that blossomed under her skin, unable to walk herself to a clinic or sit through the procedure that would get rid of it. She was still riding on the sting of her father’s death and the realisation that maybe no one would ever love her, only lie and manipulate just to get laid. Claire had hopes that a child would at least help her find some sense of purpose instead of trudging through the dismally grey days alone. 

She wasn’t able to keep Robert away for long, her threats were empty and hollow, easily manipulated to benefit the man she was trying to fight off. When office gossip spread that Claire was carrying twins, the tables turned. Rob was empowered with an upper hand and a severe threat that left Claire uncertain and unsafe. She would do as he asked or else he would tell his wife. Emily Doyle was a force to be reckoned with. She was a fierce socialite and happy trophy wife incapable of bearing her own children who would feel so inclined to fight Claire for the sole custody of her husband’s biological children. 

If it went to court, Claire would not only be exposed for being the other woman in an affair, but for sleeping with her boss. It would be a notable enough offence, with an added word from Rob himself, that would see Claire incapable of finding a reliable job. Without sufficient means to support herself and _two_ infants, let alone pay for a lawyer, Robert and Emily Doyle would likely find themselves with sole custody of Claire Dearing’s newborns.

Claire had to backdown. 

Owen slammed his hand down on the kitchen counter, the sound of skin slapping stone loud and unexpected. Claire jumped, pulled from her story as she blinked, eyes searching for his. ‘What the _fuck_ is wrong with this guy, Claire?’ He growled, face turned towards the counter, his hand rolling into a fist. The boys had grown quiet. Claire only had her eyes on one, Ollie sitting in her line of sight, toy no longer in his hand as he started at the man who startled him. ‘This isn’t right. He can’t just keep you under his thumb like that.’ 

Claire shrugged. ‘What am I supposed to do, Owen?’ She was chewing on her thumb as she asked him, a nervous tick he had’t seen in her yet. ‘It’s live with it until he gets bored, or loose the boys and my job. I worked way to hard to get to where I was.’

‘Claire,’ Owen sighed irritably, not at her but rather the situation as a whole. ‘He is never going to get bored. These boys, like it or not, are his kids. There’s no away he’s gonna just walk away and let you keep them. There’s no fun in that. Sure, he’s just threaten’ to take ‘em away now, but give it a ‘nother couple of months. Give it a year. Before you know it, he won’t be threaten’ no more, he’ll just be doin’. He’ll take those boys before you can even squeak out a protest.’ 

Her face was changing from it’s pale complexion speckled with freckles, to soft pink, to red. Her blue eyes flared turquoise with the sudden change in her skin and the tears that burned her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She cried unable to keep the tears at bay as a sob broke through her words. 

Owen couldn’t stand there and watch the tears, he moved for her in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her immediately. He held her tight, crushing the woman against his chest as she sobbed. Her whole body shook as Owen kissed the top of her head, trying to reassure her with small words. 

He rocked her slightly, swaying in the same loose hipped fashion that helped settled the boys. ’We’ll get you a lawyer.’ Owen offered, guiding Claire to the living room and settling her on the couch. Isaac was sooking in Owen’s wake, well aware that something was amiss with his mother and was incapable of getting to the couch fast enough. 

Owen knew they weren’t far off from crawling, both boys having mastered the basic commando crawl but hadn’t quite figured out propping themselves up on their hands and knees. He abandoned Claire for a split second to collect Isaac, handing the boy to his upset mother who cradled him tightly. 

‘I can’t afford a lawyer.’ Claire sniffled, kissing the top of the boy’s head. Owen settled into the couch beside her, pulling Claire into his side and under his arm. That morning he had been worried about intimacy, terrified that it was ruined forever and although there was still slight off putting feeling in his gut, he was back to his prime need; comforting her at all costs and with all points of contact. 

On the floor in front of them, Ollie shook a stuffed lion like a small dog terrorising a toy while Isaac continued to pull at Claire’s hair - his newfound favourite activity. Owen hummed, kiss dropped to her temple as he squeezed her. ‘I told you ‘bout Cass, right?’ Claire hummed. Cassandra Grady was the eldest of the Grady bunch. That was the most Claire knew of her other than the woman having two children of her own and a wife. ‘She’s a lawyer. Pretty sure if I ask her nice enough she’ll help without the fee.’ Claire opened her mouth to protest, despite the help she so desperately needed she couldn’t let Cassie help her for nothing in return. ‘We’ll work it out, don’t stress about it. Okay?’ 

Claire hummed, breathing in a long breath and holding it. She focused on the warmth surrounding her, Isaac on one side, Owen on the other, weighting her down, keeping her centred. She had a bad fortune in most cases than not, but to have this; she was lucky. 

[…]

Owen panicked when her name flashed on his phone, the device vibrating across his desk impatiently. Claire never called him at work. She sent the occasional text message containing a picture of the boys, or a text that was mildly dirty. Claire asked what he wanted for dinner, or if he could stop by the store on his way home. Never did she call. 

He accepted her request for FaceTime trying to settle the fear that sent cool chills across his flesh. An easy smile found it’s place on his cheeks as Owen prepared for whatever it was Claire had in store. 

Owen threw a glance over both his shoulders, making sure the coast was clear of coworkers while he waited the split second it took for her grinning face to appear. ’Hey,’ Her smile was radiance, almost worth the miniature heart attack he gave himself with the alert of her call. It was worth that and so much more as his heart skipped a beat for a second time. He could tell she felt ridiculous just from the way she grinned, the dimple in her left cheek deeper than usual. ‘You’ll never guess what Ollie’s doing.’ Claire beamed, the proud mother within her showing off her stripes. 

He hummed with excitement. The boys were gaining up on seven-months-old, ticking off milestones as they went. He was still desperate for them to crawl but half liked the idea that they would get up and _run_ as soon as they were good and ready. 

Claire flipped the camera on her phone, her face disappearing from Owen’s screen as the boys replaced her, the both of them strapped into their highchairs. Isaac looked miserable, the boy ill-tempered when he was contained, whilst Oliver sat completely joyous. 

‘Ollie?’ Claire’s voice behind the camera called to the boy. His head picked up, little hand slapping the plastic tray of his highchair, making his cheerios bounce. ‘Who am I, baby?’ Owen saw the easy grin slip across Oliver’s face, an expression the man adored. 

‘ _Ma-ma!’_ Oliver shrieked, squealing with laughter at himself as he made his cheerios fly once more. Isaac, beside him, joined in the two of them chanting their mothers title. 

Owen laughed with pure joy, humoured by their easy mirth as they finally mastered the word Claire had been drilling into their heads from the day they were born. ‘Oh, you are going to be _so sick_ of that in a week.’ He teased, unable to wipe the grin off his face or control the pride that pounded in his chest. 

The boys stopped their humoured chant, Oliver picking up on Owen’s voice much quicker than his older brother. Although, he could have speculated that Isaac heard him and elected, at six-and-a-half-months-old, to ignore Owen. 

‘ _Da-da!’_ Silence fell across the line, Claire’s excited laugh ceasing as their hearts caught in their throats. They had been working on the boys’ sounds, encouraging words, mostly _Ma._ Neither boy had moved towards any _da_ sounds, there was nothing in their home or their lives that alined with it. So, when Owen heard it, FaceTiming with Claire, he couldn’t help but feel his chest expand. _Da-da_ meant one thing and one thing only. He was a mediocre baby sister at best, nothing close to a father but Claire had said so herself. She wanted the boys to have someone like him. Regardless, Owen couldn’t help the tears that burnt in his eyes or the inexplicable breathless feeling that overcame him. 

‘I’m coming over, right now.’ Owen announced, urgency thrumming in his veins as he began to collect his things. 

It broke the silence on the other end, Claire’s laughter returning. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Owen.’ It was only 12pm, he wasn’t due to finish work until 5.

‘No, no, no. This is monumental. I gotta make sure it wasn’t a fluke.’ He could practically hear Claire’s eye roll on the other end, as the camera changed just in time for him to _see_ her roll her eyes. 

‘I’ll see you soon, then.’ Claire disconnected the call leaving Owen with the echo of little boys chanting _Da-da_ as they banged their hands on plastic trays, their laughter mixing in the air. 

[…] 

Owen tried to tell himself that it was just a fluke. He would waltz right in the door and the boys would have no recollection of the word they had said over the phone. He tried to talk himself out of getting upset, knowing that babies sometimes did this on occasion with no explanation. Isaac, in particular, was good at baiting them into a big event. He was always the first to do something, smiling, rolling over, sitting up. He did it once, basked in the attention and then refused to do it again until Oliver caught up.

He spotted Oliver the second he stepped in the door, the boy sitting up on his own in the living room, hitting one block against the other as he giggled at the noise. 

Owen didn’t stop to take off his shoes, or discard his keys. Instead, he dropped to his knees at the edge of Claire’s carpeted living room and crawled towards Oliver, keys jingling in his hand. ‘Hey, Ollie.’ The boy’s attention snapped towards him, little body jumping with excitement when he registered Owen’s voice. He watched the shift in Ollie’s face, neutral play to sheer happiness as he shook his arms and sat up a little straighter. 

‘ _Da-da!’_ The boy shrieked again, this time to Owen’s face and not simply the sound of his voice. This was real, not over the phone and through a speaker it was Oliver granting him with a title he didn’t know the boy understood. Slight fear flared in his chest, responsibility rising with joy trying to squelch his happiness, encouraging him to get up and run away. Owen pushed it aside, reaching for the boy instead as he scooped the boy up and pulled him to his chest. ‘Da-da, Da-da.’ Ollie repeated, tapping his hands against Owen’s cheeks as the man covered his young face with kisses. 

There was nothing to fear in the name, the title, the responsibility. He felt like he deserved it or in the very least humbled to accept that pedestal in the infant’s eyes. Owen had not thought about his place much. He accepted that he was there, with Claire, with Isaac with Oliver. He filled a void in their lives like they filled one for him. He had not considered it _too serious._ Sure, he and Claire had slept together on a few occasions, instantly intoxicated by the other since their first taste, only taking a break after Claire stepped out with Rob.

Owen didn’t know if he was ready to step up to the plate, to fill the place permanently but with Ollie calling him _da-da_ he had no desire to be anywhere else. So long as Claire and the twins would have him, Owen was willing to stay. 

Owen rolled onto his back, trying to kick off his dirty boots as he held Ollie above his head, raising the boy up high and bringing him back down again the child squealing with laughter. He hadn’t noticed that Claire had stepped into the room, until she sat Isaac beside him, the little boy moving immediately to gouge out Owen’s eyes. 

He couldn’t help the surge of love he felt, or the desperate vow he made to protect them at all costs. 

‘Whose that?’ Owen asked turning Oliver towards his mother as he beamed. 

‘ _Ma-ma!’_ He bought the boy back down to his chest as he grinned at Claire, from ear to ear, nothing but simple joy bursting from him as he hugged each boy. Claire joined them on the floor, quick kiss pressed to his cheek as she lay on her back beside him, Isaac sitting in the small gap between their sides. 

‘Cass has some time in her schedule next week.’ Owen offered between blowing raspberries on Oliver’s belly. She was back at work in the coming days, a little unprepared to face the man who threatened her lively hood. Unfortunately, Cassandra Grady was a busy woman and had told her brother as much despite wanting to drop everything to help him. The following week was the best she could do. ‘You’ve just gotta call and confirm a day.’

Claire hummed her thanks, promising quietly that she would call. She was ready to get her life back.


	7. Chapter 7

Cassandra Grady was a hard woman. Owen joked that she got it from their mother, as he promised Claire she wouldn’t be too hard on her. Just as Claire had, Cassie got into a good college and put her head down, focusing all of her time and energy into graduating in the top of her class. She took her job seriously, and the path she took to get there was lined in nothing but respect.

At thirty-two Cassandra was a successful defence lawyer, married to the woman of her dreams and mother to two children. Cassie mastered the balance between home and work quickly, there for her family and for her clients all within a strict schedule. She belonged to a prestigious firm uptown, her office within, neat, tidy and decorated with accolades. 

To say Claire was a little in awe of the woman was an understatement. She was practically in love. 

Claire wanted the things Cassie Grady had. Albeit it she was never destined for a law degree, she settled for business instead packing herself away to Stanford and focusing on one day running an empire. She’d fallen short with her run in with Robert Doyle. Maybe if she had avoided him seventeen months ago, she would have jumped an extra rung on the corporate ladder and been one step closer to running the place. But then her sons’ wouldn’t exist and even though Claire had never factored them into her life plan now that she had them, she couldn’t imagine a life without them.

‘Where are the boys?’ Cassie’s voice sounded behind Claire as she clicked the door to her office shut and rounded the chair. The boys were at daycare, the clock on Cassie’s desk telling Claire that Owen would be picking them up within the hour. She was itching to get home, to wrap her boys up in her arms and snuggle down with them for the evening. 

That day was only her second day back at work in a little over a year. The day before was a test in patience, being away from the boys when she was so used to being with them. There wasn’t a day where they weren’t by her side, or at her feet. It took the whole work day to stop thinking that she had abandoned them or left the two unattended. 

It took Owen popping into their daycare to snap a series of pictures to qualm her fears. The second she caught sight of them, after walking in the door at half past five that evening, Claire couldn’t help the tears. Day two was treating her better, Tuesday’s the designated afternoon in which she was allowed to leave work early. Her appointment with Cassie put a halt that. Though, if she wanted to continue returning home to her sons at the end of every work day, the meeting was necessary.

‘Shame,’ Cassie sighed, frowning softly. ‘I was looking forward to a cuddle.’ She grinned, flashing straight white teeth as she extended her hand in introduction. Claire stood, rising to greet the woman as she took her hand, smiling nervously. ‘Cassie Grady. It’s nice to meet you, Claire.’ She introduced, taking the chair beside her client rather than sitting in the chair behind her desk. 

Claire hadn’t put much thought into who Cassie was when Owen first mentioned her but it was clear to see that she was every good expectation. She was kind, down to earth and considerate. It didn’t help that she was beautiful, the same warm skin of her brother, and piercing green eyes. Although Claire expected there were bad words to be said about the woman - coming from those she won cases against - they weren’t true if you knew her. 

A notebook balanced on her knee, pen in hand. Cassie twirled it through her fingers as they spoke. Idle chitchat flowed between them, Claire’s initial nervous hesitation slowly ebbing away with each story Cassie shared. 

‘I don’t usually do this—’ Cassie smiled, easing out of a story about her eighteen-month-old, Jack allowing Claire special insight on the stories she would experience herself once her boys started walking and expressing themselves. ‘—Get down on a personal level.’ She explained, ‘But, my brother thinks the world of you and I’m more than willing to trust that opinion.’ She clicked the end of her pen against her open, blank, page. ‘Owen told me a few things, but left the rest for you to fill in. So, why don’t you do just that. Fill me in and I’ll see how I can help.’ 

Cassie’s assistant bought them tea sometime after Claire started explaining her situation. Owen’s sister let her talk, trying her hardest to recount the details of threats Robert had thrown her way. The woman nodded, taking notes with Claire’s permission as she hummed like a therapist and squinted in the sunlight. 

There was only so much Claire could say in the end. She had made a mistake and paid for it, but was hopeful Cassie could help in a way that Claire couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know that her children were safe, that they were protected from the man who had no care for them or their mother. She wanted to know that there was no way Emily could pry them from her hands.

‘Legally,’ Cassie started when Claire finished, straightening her posture a little as she stretched. ‘He has no claim. You said you listed paternity as unknown, when they were born?’ In the moment Claire didn’t know why she did it, but now she was thankful. Cassie agreed with her relief. 

Rob and Emily could still demand a DNA test which would only prove what they already knew. Cassie was confident that they would have no means or ground for custody. Not full at least. A forgiving judge would agree on shared, which was not an option in Claire’s books.

‘I’m going to be honest with you, Claire.’ Cassie reached out with her right hand, fingers gracing the skin of Claire’s wrist. ‘I can draw something up. I can ask him to sign it. But I can’t promise how he will react. My best suggestion, is that you start looking for work. Don’t wait for waves, or repercussions. Get out from under his thumb in this state or the next. Think about Oliver, think about Isaac, think about yourself. Where do you want to be? What do you want to do? You’re only twenty-eight, the world is still waiting out there for you.’ She wrote a final note in her book before clicking the pen closed and shutting the page. ‘Now, go home to your boys. I expect cuddles on Friday.’ 

‘Friday?’ Claire asked quizzically as she stood, Cassie rising with her. 

It was the older woman who looked at her confused for a second, before explanation settled easily across her brow. ‘He didn’t tell you?’ Claire shook her head. ‘It’s Owen’s birthday, we’re having dinner at Mom’s. She told _everyone_ you’re invited.’ Cassie rolled her eyes and Claire blanched.

‘He must have forgotten to tell me about it.’ Claire offered easily, shrugging as she rolled her eyes as if Owen was the forgetful kind. His sister took it easily enough, sighing as if to say _men_ as she saw Claire out the door, the younger woman promising to be there.

[…] 

‘It’s not too late to turn back,’ Owen warned Claire as he pulled his car into his mother’s driveway. She had to fight him on their appearance, the man downright denying the existence of a dinner untilClaire threatened to call his mother. It was a hollow attempt at consequence and he took the bait easily. It would have been worse for him if Claire had to contact Cassie, just to get to Mary Grady. 

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘What? You’ll just drive us back home if I don’t want to be here?’ Owen nodded eagerly, grinning stupidly at _home_ Claire suggesting one place for the both of them. He promised, if that was what she wanted, all Claire had to do was ask. She shook her head for the seventh time, telling him quietly that it was where she wanted to be. Half of his family had helped her already, it was only fair to met the adults that raised kind children. 

‘Now, boys,’ Owen jumped out of the car pulling the backseat of his truck open to regard Ollie and Isaac. ‘Best behaviour tonight.’ He bopped Ollie on the nose, boy laughing happily as Owen pulled him out of his carseat. 

With Ollie on Owen’s hip and Isaac on Claire’s, they were focused on wiggling little boys as they reached the door. Neither child enjoyed being strapped into their carseats much and put up a _freedom_ fuss when they were finally set free. Claire was desperate to restrain Isaac, the boy set for wrinkling the nice clothes she had put him in, already stained thanks to the teething biscuit Owen gave him in the car. 

Claire was still irate with him for feeding the boys just as they were walking out the door. Owen didn’t seem to care, only shrugged and muttered something about it being family, nothing too fancy. Her hands were full, one holding the boy, the other holding a box of cake - they bought rather than made. 

His mother greeted them at the door, ushering them in with a warm smile before Owen even had the chance to knock. ‘It’s so wonderful to finally meet you!’ Mary Grady grinned, hugging Claire tightly before turning her attention to each of the small boys. ‘Owen did not do your looks justice.’ The woman smacked her sons’ arm as Claire felt her cheeks burn red. Had Owen really discussed her _looks_ with his mother?

‘Uncle Owen!’ A small voice shouted, followed by the thudding of feet on floorboards. A blonde haired little girl appeared from the living room only to fling herself at Owen’s legs. It took little to no effort on his part to hoist the girl up into his spare arm.

‘Mia!’ He shouted back, grinning as he hugged the girl to the best of his ability. ‘This is my niece,’ Owen introduced, turning to Claire as they stepped down the hall. She had heard a little of Mia from both Owen and Cassie. The girl was three, sweet natured, and completely kind.

Mary was quick to graciously take the box from Claire’s hand, freeing the woman as she hit her son for bringing _more_ cake to _his_ dinner party. 

A second set of feet sounded the second Mary managed to step away, as another little body ran into Owen’s legs, rendering the man unable to move. ‘Jack!’ He cheered, half bending to touch the top of the boys’ head. Jack was a-year-and-a-half-old, Claire’s Tuesday session with Cassie telling her that the boy was a delight but a touch on the _naughty_ side. ‘My nephew.’ Owen nodded, despite knowing that Claire already knew. 

He shuffled up the hallway, Jack clinging to his legs as Owen tried not to rattle each child too much. Claire hung back, watching him with amusement as he waddled, children giggling at his grunts and groans, feet dragging along his mother’s floors. 

‘Whoa, that baby is _not_ mine.’ A third voice threw itself into the mix as Owen turned into the living room, children in tow. Claire guessed it was June. That was the only other voice she could think would be contained within Mary Grady’s living room. At least a voice that wouldn’t know about the boys. All of his sister’s already knew. Besides, the comment correlated directly to the children, two of the three hanging off Owen belonged to Cassie and June. ‘Where’d you find them?’ She heard the voice tease, sound getting closer as Owen moved out of the doorway allowing space for Claire. 

A body stepped forward, smaller than Owen and dark haired to pry Jack off of Owen’s legs, asking that he _please let Uncle Owen walk_. The woman grinned, blinking once Claire stepped into the space standing beside Owen in the doorway, Isaac’s back to Oliver’s. Her brown eyes shone, smile wide. ‘What _did_ they _do_ to you in the Navy, man? Was it some kind of superhuman program - are you the new Captain America? Are they even capable of spawning children that fast?’ June joked, insinuating that the twins belonged to her brother-in-law, and developed rather quickly in comparison to the time he had been home. 

‘June Montoya,’ She introduced, much like her wife, hand extended. ‘And I just realised you would be Claire. Fair warning, Cass will try to take your boys home.’ June teased, hinting at Cassie’s eager want for a cuddle in her office on Tuesday afternoon. 

With that Cassie announced herself, stepping into the room with a wide grin, her expression only growing longer once her eyes fell on the twins. ‘Oh look at them!’ She cooed, stepping towards them and embracing her brother in a warm hug. When Cassie pulled away she was holding Oliver, a move everyone - including the boy - seemed to miss. She kissed his cheeks playfully, in awe of the child as she moved to hug Claire, pecking Isaac’s cubby face as she did so. 

Mia was excitedly carrying on in Owen’s arms, something about _‘Silly Grandma’ ,_ ‘ _no ice-cream’_ and ‘ _Rina and Izzy have to get it’_ as the child reconnected with her Uncle. Cassie was just as kind in her mother’s home as she had been in her office, asking politely into the boys as she revelled in the warmth of the heavy seven-month-old, her wife beside her reminding the woman that they did not need another one. 

The house was a mess of noise, children’s voices and baby cries. Ollie was not appreciative of strange hands, his small arms reaching for Owen at every chance he got. Claire was terrified of their new word, especially in his family home. She wasn’t embarrassed that her children had started calling him _Da-da_ , just concerned about the implications it would cause had Owen not told his family about them. What were they anyway? Claire didn’t know. They waded in and out of something, then nothing Claire allowing the spark to fizzle to a low hum. It was still there, she was certain of it. He kissed her cheek, or the corner of her mouth and her skin hummed, the rest of her begging to be touched. She just needed to mend the bridge of trust she had broken, all it involved was taking a day at a time

Oliver, thankfully, steered clear of the parental title instead grunting in his usual way until he caught Owen’s attention. Mia was released, her feet touching the ground, disgruntled look on her face as Owen took the boy from Cassie and calmly asked his niece if she could show them where the toys lived. It took five minutes for Owen to settle himself on the floor, with Ollie and Isaac, his niece and nephew joining them. 

Claire settled behind him on the love seat, her knee against his shoulder as Owen encouraged the young boys to stack blocks. The adults talked over their heads, discussing work and world events, catching up on each others lives since their last discussion. 

It didn’t take long for the Grady house to grow by two, Izzy and Sabrina returning from their trip to the store; ice-cream forgotten by Mary and promised to Mia. They disappeared into the kitchen in a loud gust of chatter before returning to the living room, sitting on the floor with their older brother just to kiss the twins’ cheeks. 

‘Oh, so they like you two!’ Cassie scoffed, slightly offended that Ollie didn’t like her company as much as he was enjoying Izzy’s raspberries on his cheeks. His laughter was loud, squealing with joy, his little hands flailing with amusement. Cassie watched, grinning as her sisters interacted with the children before moving to their seperate spaces in the living room. 

Each had their place. Owen had moved them to the corner, a small love seat sitting beside the box of children’s toys. Sabrina curled herself into an armchair that looked as though it belonged to her father, while Izzy sank into a beanbag. Cassie and June squeezed themselves into a corner of the couch despite having plenty of room to move about. The living room was mix-matched, the furniture uneven, collected across the years as the Grady’s grew. It remained as it was now, for the children to return home, grandchildren in tow. 

It was Izzy who defended the twins’ love for both herself and Sabrina. They saw them almost constantly, once a week at the least - the boys subject to their loving torture whether they liked it or not. Cassie knew full well most infants needed time to adjust, as she teased her sisters over an infant’s love. 

‘I have to admit,’ Cassie hummed, catching a lull in conversation. ‘This is odd,’ She pointed her finger at Owen, circling the man. Sitting on the floor, he was surrounded by children. ‘A father esque figure. I mean, we all saw it coming but, I don’t think I was ready for it.’ Ollie sat between his legs, content with focusing on the challenge Owen had set him, while Isaac sat to his right, gleefully handing over blocks, but not before smashing them together. Jack leant against his shoulder, tapping his uncle’s cheek as she prattled about dinosaurs and race cars. Mia was the only one not bothering him, instead she was pestering Claire, sitting beside the woman on the love seat grinning at her after asking childlike questions. 

Mary Grady was in the doorway, admiring her son and the way he handled the infants in his care. She had popped into the room periodically, trying to keep up on the chatter as she welcomed Claire into her home. Claire couldn’t help but notice the soft, soul warming grin that sat on Owen’s mother’s face when she watched him. Her heart clenched. He had been through his wars - literally, they didn’t know the full extent of it but knew enough that they wanted him happy.

This made Owen happy. The boys, Claire, playing silly little games and cooing at drool covered faces. She knew he loved the routine of getting up in the middle of the night for a grumpy little boy, only to bring the child back to her bed for a little while. He was weak in the knees - and the head - for her boys, and likely for Claire herself. 

She really didn’t want to ruin what they had, despite her night with Rob already destroying it. 

‘This one,’ His mother began, fond smile on her face. ‘He loved to nurture. As a little boy he would carry around Cassie’s dolls. He would feed them, put them to bed, walk them around the house. He’d even force Rhys into playing along.’ Mary stepped around Izzy in her beanbag to reach for a photo frame that lived above the fireplace. She handed it to Claire with a soft grin, her eyes gracing the soft faces of her sons once again. 

With the frame in her hand, her eyes on the image of young Owen, doll strapped to his chest with a cloth, Cassie grinning behind him and another boy - identical, standing by her side Claire clicked. ‘You’re a twin?’ She asked him, Owen’s head tilted back against her knee to look at the picture. 

His mother smacked him across the head before he could even answer, ‘You didn’t tell her about Rhys?’ His mother growled, not entirely angry with him. Rubbing the back of his head, Owen shrugged. He didn’t tell Claire about Rhys, for good reason. The brothers were estranged there was no need to tell Claire that he shared twinhood with a man that was never there. 

No one heard the front door open and shut, too busy laughing at Owen’s expense as footfalls carried up the hallway. ‘Uncle Rhys!’ It was Mia who tore away first, seeing the man in the doorway and pulling herself away from Claire. The room fell quiet, eyes turning to the man in question. In their youth they were identical, Owen and Rhys, but age had shaped their faces in different ways. His skin was honey, his eyes green, his hair the slightest bit lighter than his brother’s. Claire could have guessed that they were the same size, height and mass, the two of them large in their own rights. She gapped at Rhys, mouth closed, as the man glared at his brother, caught on the sport as his eyes drifted to the infants in his lap and Owen’s hand on Claire’s knee. 

The tension in the room reached paramount, Mia on her uncle’s hip suddenly quiet. ‘Oh, for fucks sake,’ Rhys swore, bending in half to put Mia back on the floor. 

‘C’mon, man, there are kids in the room.’ Owen grumbled, wincing without stepping down. Claire felt the tension in him, his whole body rigid at the sight and sound of his brother, every muscle tense. He had a protective hand on each of the twins, she didn’t know how it got there, but it was, his fingers splayed to cover the expanse of their little backs. Owen barely touched the boys in means to keep them safe since they walked through his mother’s door. Owen felt comfortable letting the boys play on the floor, half commando crawling to the the legs of family members they didn’t know. He didn’t need to shield them from anyone, until now. 

‘You can’t stop being the golden boy for two goddamn seconds, can you?’ Rhys seethed, thrusting a hand towards Owen, his mother at his side telling him to cut it out. Sean Grady, a man Claire was briefly introduced to, stood behind his son, ready to step in while Cassie shuffled Mia and Jack out of the room, shooed away by their mothers, aided by their granddad. 

‘I’m not here to argue with you, Rhys.’ Owen was calm, levelheaded, still sitting on the floor with the boys who had ceased moving with the raised voices in the room.

‘Then why are you here?’ His twin spat. 

Owen shrugged, heavy sigh falling from his mouth as he called his brother an idiot. It was their birthday, why else would he be home - other than he could be? Rhys stepped forward, but not before Sean Grady stepped in, growling at both boys as he told them to get out, ushering Rhys towards the door knowing Owen would follow. 

Owen turned to Claire, apology on his tongue as he scooped both boys up and deposited them in her lap. He kissed the corner of her mouth softly as he parted with them, hands running over the boys’ heads as he stepped away. The rough voices that dropped to a threatening level had startled Ollie, the little boy fussy until Owen let him go. The second he was place in his mother’s lap, Owen’s hands no longer on him, he let out a wail. 

It took a whole twenty seconds for Isaac to follow, the oldest of the two boys watching Owen disappear from the living room was his final straw. ‘You happy now, Rhys?! My grandkids are crying!’ It was Sean, hollering from the hallway a second before the door slammed shut. Claire focused on Ollie, trying to soothe his tortured cries, as Isaac tried to wiggle his way off the couch, intent on following his protector. 

‘This is why Owen and Rhys don’t usually end up in the same room.’ Sabrina explained as Cassie scooped Isaac up from the couch, catching him just as Claire reached to grab his shirt. ‘They haven’t gotten along for a while now.’ 

‘It’s been over a decade.’ Izzy added with a scoff, the mood in the room suddenly somber. ‘Dad hates that they won’t get along, especially because Owen was rarely home.’ Mia and Jack where back in a second, June leading them back into the room. Neither had tears on their faces as Jack came over to Claire, offering a toy truck to Ollie. It did nothing to soothe the boy but it seemed to put the toddler at ease. 

She could hear Mary outside, scolding her sons before she reentered her home. She appeared in the archway with a cool smile and an apology to Claire who didn’t deserve to see her sons behave that way. She asked if Isaac was okay - getting the boys names mixed up, as Ollie continued to cry, Isaac content with Cassie. 

‘Sean will sort those hotheads out in a quick minute, I promise you that.’ She smiled at the young woman, shaking her head at the antics of her children exasperated with the way Owen and Rhys behaved. ‘They’ll be back in here behaving like the men I raised ‘em to be.’ She ushered her family into the dining room, encouraging them to take their places as the birthday boys - newly thirty the following morning, got a talking to from their father. 

There was an issue with highchairs, Mary on a shortage, only able to provide two - one that Jack had already climbed into. Cass and June promised to pull him out, sure that the boy could sit on a chair like the rest of the adults. Claire only shook them off, insisting it was no bother, Oliver was still upset, his small hand clutching a fistful of her shirt. He wasn’t about ready to sit in a highchair just yet. 

Owen took Ollie almost immediately, the second he returned scowl pressed into the ridges of his face as he kissed Claire’s cheek when he took a seat. He held the boy in his lap as they ate, Ollie calming almost immediately, he still let out a cry at the reminder of his recent trauma, separation anxiety getting the better of him as it settled deeper within his young bones. A fat tear sat on his face as he suckled greedily on a pacifier Claire had procured, his head resting limply on Owen’s arm as he grizzled. 

The boy in his lap aided to chill Owen’s sudden temper, his frustration towards his brother driving the man half mad. They finished their meal in uncomfortable chit chat, everyone too scared to say the wrong thing. Izzy was talking about her career options, outside of her degree, her audience captive while their meal settled, Owen’s hand on Claire’s thigh, her fingers locked around his palm. 

No one noticed, until Sabrina started giggling, that Ollie had pulled himself forward and attached his mouth to the edge of Owen’s plate. He was sucking apple sauce off the edge, something Owen half admitted to leaving there for the boy after Claire nearly caught him giving it to Ollie on his finger. 

Rhys rolled his eyes at the amusement the little boy and Owen had created, the whole table captivated for minutes too long as Claire tried to scold Owen under her breath. Those who noticed Rhys, ignored him. He rolled his eyes at the crying grizzling child, and at the humoured version of the boy. There was no satisfying him. 

No one sung happy birthday when Mary bought the cake out. She kissed each of her boys on the head and muttered something about wishing they would just get along. There was a collective sigh of relief when Mia and Jack started to yawn, the children calling for bed. Ollie too, had drifted off on Owen’s lap, as Isaac’s head started to fall in the highchair. It was the perfect time to leave if any of them had seen it before. 

[…]

‘Your dad called the boys his grandkids.’ Claire mused, as Owen held the front door to her home open, her arms full with her sleeping boys. The comment had lingered in the back of her mind, not unpleasantly but curiously. Sean had shouted at Rhys for making the twins cry, calling them his grandkids as he did so. 

Owen grinned, shrugging as she stepped past him, his hand lingering on the small of her back as the door closed behind them, Owen turning the lock for the night. ‘He’s a pretty old fashioned guy.’ Claire hummed, taking Owen’s explanation. She didn’t know what he had told his parents in regards to their relationship and even though his mother had been find, warm and loving she didn’t pressure them into admitting anything.

‘They don’t have a granddad,’ She sighed, toeing her shoes off and moving for the stairs, Owen’s hand still on her back. Claire’s father had died two years ago, months before she had even conceived her sons. They didn’t have a grandmother either. In fact, all Ollie and Isaac had claims to in terms of family were Claire’s sister and nephews. 

Owen only squeezed her hip as they climbed the stairs, boys snoozing in her arms. ‘Well, they do now.’ There was no doubt his family would let go of Claire anytime soon. Cassie knew of their issues and was still welcoming of the woman in her family home, happy to cuddle little boys and talk over the dinner table. His mother would argue, if she knew, that Claire was the best damn thing that happened to him and he would be ridiculous to let her go. 

His father, no doubt, had formed a bond. Which, to Owen, was remarkable. Sean Grady was a tough man, he served his time in the military before returning home to his young family and settling down. He had sat beside Isaac at the table, piling mashed potatoes onto a plate for the boy, feeding him too much - just as Owen did - despite Claire’s protests that he had already eaten. 

The boys settled into bed easily, exhausted from their night out with new faces and foods. Their little eyes could barely stay open, half fighting as their mother lowered them into their respective cribs. Isaac grunted when his back touched the mattress, making his mother stroke his cheek, her hand moving to sit on his stomach heavily for a second until he settled. 

‘What happened between you and Rhys?’ Claire asked, tearing herself away from her sleeping boys as she moved for Owen and the door. 

Owen stepped forward for his nightly routine with the boys, checking they were tucked in and comfortable even though Claire had already done it. She saw his shoulders stiffen, the muscles there tensing against her words. ‘Rhys is colourblind.’ Owen offered, watching the faces of the little boys, their cribs pressed together. ‘We were both supposed to go into the military together, but he couldn’t pass the medical. Rhys thought if he couldn’t go, then I wouldn’t go.’ Owen shook his head as he sighed heavily. ‘I had to go. We’d spent our whole lives dreaming about serving our country and following in our father’s footsteps. I left him behind and he’s never been able to forgive me for that.’ 

‘And tonight he saw the twins and thought …’ Claire trailed off as he approached her, Owen’s hand skirting across her belly as they stepped out of the room, the boys down for the count until they woke for their early AM feeding. 

‘That they were mine. That I was miles ahead of him already when we had always stepped in time.’ Owen shrugged, it was partly his fault. He knew his brother would react that way the second Mary suggested Claire came along. He had put off extending the invitation partly due to the Rob situation and partly because it would have been easier if they just didn’t go. But it was dinner, for their birthday, his mother wouldn’t let him out of that and when Claire found out, through Cassie, she insisted that they go.

Owen just hoped his brother would have taken the highroad and let the issue go, if only for a night and for the wellbeing of their family. ‘I’m really sorry you had to witness it.’ Apologies spilled from his mouth as they got ready for bed, Owen sticking close to her as he vexed about his brother. 

They climbed into bed together, settling under the blankets as Claire shrugged, brushing off his apologies. Owen easily wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. ‘It’s not going to happen to them.’ She whispered as Owen turned off the light, Claire pressing a kiss to his bicep. ‘They are not going to fall apart like you and Rhys did.’ 

‘You don’t know that,’ Owen grumbled, his eyes closed, his voice already doused in sleep. She reminded him so much of her children in that moment, Owen trying to sleep as Claire touched his face evidently wide awake. 

Claire hummed in response, her voice light, caught in the altering reality of midnight. ‘They have you to make sure they’re always together.’ Owen didn’t know how true that was. Would they always have him? And would be be capable of preventing a falling out. ‘I’m sorry your birthday was ruined.’ Her fingers scrapped across his hip, hand sliding into position. 

Owen grumbled, ‘It ain’t really till tomorrow’. Claire sighed hopefully, rising up to kiss his cheek as she settled into his embrace hoping by some far flung hope that she could make it right again. Some part of her hoped, longed, that her boys would sleep late that morning, allowing her the chance to ring in Owen’s birthday the way she would like.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the anon(s?) last week that raised questions about Claire’s side of the story. I hope this does enough justice. I will admit that I stuffed up and completely blanked when it concerned showing her side. I’m sorry.

The second he caught wind of the Seahawks coming to town, Owen was on it. He bought tickets in advance, and made sure each member of the small Dearing clan had paraphernalia to wear. So what if he had beamed like an idiot when the clerk gushed over the small size of the football jerseys and the multiples in which Owen was buying.

Claire only rolled her eyes at the tickets he presented her with, joy on his face as she expressed a nervousness. ‘They’re only seven months old, Owen. I don’t think they’re going to enjoy it much.’ He shook his head, promising without a doubt that they could manage in keeping the boys occupied. 

Owen’s excitement was paramount the day before the game, the man practically bouncing on the spot. Claire wanted to call it the fates as the slight temperature and warm cheeks of her infants turned into an impossible flu, their mother waking alongside them just as groggy and rundown. She had warned him that their chances of getting out of the house were next to nil as she sniffled around an apology. 

Claire urged him to go with a friend, to take a colleague or his sisters in her place. Owen watched her, cheeks flushed pink with a semi permanent warmth, her body temperature skyrocketing to keep her head dizzy and her nose blocked. The boys were suffering a similar fate in all their infant glory. Owen couldn’t abandon them when they were like this. 

‘I’m staying.’ He chuckled, pressing his lips to her warm forehead. ‘We’ll see how everyone’s feeling tomorrow. If not, Barry will take the tickets off my hands.’ She couldn’t help but note the slight frown that crept across his face at the suggestion of his friend going without him. He had been so excited to take the boys, flashing off miniature jerseys that, even then, were too big. Claire couldn’t help but feel guilty, regardless of Owen’s protests that she not. He could just as easily watch the game with them from the couch, a boy in each arm - maybe she was right. The stadium would be too loud and unsettling. They needed more time. 

On the monitor, the boys made themselves known their little voices crackling to life in order to express their displeasure. ‘I’ll get ‘em, hold on.’ He kissed her forehead again, parting ways with Claire and her bed.

Owen was gone for five minutes, ten if she counted the low cursing she could hear on the baby monitor as he collected the crying boys. When Owen returned he had a child in each arm, both of them as worse for wear as Claire, their cheeks red and their skin too warm. Owen was pushing a box with his foot, sliding it across the floor as he shuffled in the door, clearly out of hands. He sat the boys on Claire’s bed, freeing his arms as Isaac instantly moved for his mother, the woman wiping the tears off his cheeks. Oliver stayed where Owen had left him, watching the man with curious eyes as he started pulling things out of the box. 

Claire recognised it the second she saw him reappear in the hallway. It was one of the few moving boxes that had taken residence in her home, filled with things Owen deemed too important to leave in the spare space of his parent’s garage or in the hollow spaces of his barely touched apartment. What he was pulling out of it, had definitely not been packed in there to begin with. 

A bottle of water, a bottle; already warmed for Isaac, a sandwich Owen had taken the time to not only make but wrap, and his xbox. ‘You are not plugging that in up here, no way.’ Claire protested as Owen lifted the console out of the box and carried it towards the TV he had set up in the corner of her room a week earlier. He did it anyway, grinning at her the second it was done as he dropped himself to the empty space of the bed. Oliver uneasily attempted to crawl across the bed in order to reach Owen, his little head falling against the man’s knee when he gave up. 

Owen dropped a hand to the back of the boy’s head, gently ruffling his strawberry blond hair. It was Isaac he pulled away from Claire’s embrace when he finished fiddling when the xbox, setting Netflix up and hitting play on a film her knew Claire loved. The boy grumped at Owen’s disruption of his comfort. ‘Sorry, bud, but you bit your mom yesterday - that gets you cut off.’ Isaac grumbled, crease forming between his brows as Owen offered him the bottle instead. 

Isaac climbed into his lap, Claire’s hand brushing across the top of the boy’s head as he grizzled. Only once he was settled between Owen’s knees did he accept the bottle he was offered, holding it in his own hands. Claire chuckled at her defiant boy, sharing a knowing smile with Owen as Ollie settled against her chest. 

The three of them were asleep before the movie reached its peak, the boys with her congested chests and stuffy noses half snored, curled up against their mother’s side. Owen left them to sleep, hoping it would relieve their ailments if only for a little while. 

He occupied himself with the dishes, scrubbing plates and cutlery clean. Owen didn’t expect the knock on the door that rattled through the house. His family was away and Claire’s lived in another state. The neighbourhood she lived in was close knit and barely attracted door-to-door-salesmen. And yet, nearing lunchtime on a Friday afternoon, Claire Dearing had a visitor. 

Had he been alone, Owen would have left them to knock but Claire and the boys were sleeping on the second floor. He was cautious of their sleep, uncertain if it was deep or fitful and with their guest knocking there was no telling if it would wake them. 

He knew he should have put the sign on the door, like Claire did. _‘Please knock quietly; babies are sleeping.’_ He thought it was silly and trivial, absolutely no need when she rarely attracted attention. ‘Can I help you?’ He asked before the door was fully open. Owen stopped, eyeing off the man that stood in front of him; a man he knew. Robert Doyle. They hadn’t been introduced but Owen wasn’t stupid enough to not google the man in an attempt to see what he could find. 

Rob peered around Owen’s shoulders trying to peek into the quiet house, likely trying to catch sight of Claire. Owen cleared his throat. ‘Is Claire home?’ Rob asked, sizing Owen up as he stood on his - _Claire’s_ \- doorstep. 

Owen quirked an eyebrow, ‘What’s it to you? She’s got the day off.’ He had worked one selective career for his whole life, but even Owen knew the boss checking in - personally - on a long weekend, especially after the employee had called in sick was not a common, friendly, occurrence. 

In fact, Owen knew without a doubt that it wasn’t just a friendly house call. Claire had been honest with him. She cleaned out her demons and cleansed her soul, vowing to save herself. She had nothing to do with Robert Doyle - other than being his employee. She cried it over and over and over, begging him to believe her. Claire had promised more times then he could count that Rob had never seen the boys, and had never stepped foot inside her home. She didn’t need to promise him that, but she did it anyway. 

‘Is bitch home or not?’ Rob snapped, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently. Owen was happy to play caveman, holing claim over those who slept inside the house. He would not take lip from a man who thought he could push Claire around, and further someone who thought he could curse her. If Rob were smart, which Owen doubted he really was, he would have backed away the second a male answered the door of his victim’s home. 

Owen watched Rob raise a cocky eyebrow, sizing the man up as he stood on the front step of Claire’s home. Not only like he owned the place, but as if he could easily defend it from Owen. He couldn’t help the twitch in his finger or the way his fist curled. On instinct, without thought, Owen pulled his arm back, the left reaching forward to grab Rob by the shirt as his fist coiled tight, knuckles white, slammed into his face. 

He didn’t stop at one punch, throwing in a second as the man’s knees buckled, Owen’s hand in his shirt holding him up. Blood trickled from his nose, his teeth white as it pooled in his mouth. Rob’s eyes looked terrified, frightened of the man he started up at as he should have been the second Owen opened the door. 

‘What do you want, Rob?’ Owen growled, letting go of the man as he fell to the ground, scrambling to get back up again. Had he been just an ex-boyfriend. Had he not been having an affair behind his wife’s back, and then later, forcing Claire to do it behind Owen’s. Had he not been more careful with the keeping of his condoms, or mixing alcohol with Claire’s birth control. let alone manipulating an innocent young woman, who knew no better than to focus on nothing but the affection she was handed in order to save her job. Had the boys never been born to a father who would never - ever - be there for them, Owen and Rob might have found means to get along. 

The world was cruel in some respects, not that Owen was mourning a friendship that would never happen. 

Rob stuttered in front of Owen, hand holding his nose like it was broken. ‘Can you just - can you tell her I left my wife?’ 

Owen barked a laugh so loud and bitter he caught himself off guard. ‘Get fucked, Rob. Are you serious, _tell her that I left my wife_?’ Owen mocked, staring at the man with daggers in his eyes. He had been mad to find him standing on the other side of the door, now he was downright pissed off at his tenacity. ‘I’ll do you one better.’ Owen offered with a snarl. ‘I won’t tell Claire that you stopped by at all. Instead, you’ll crawl back to the hole you slithered from and stay the fuck away from her and _my_ sons.’ 

Rob scoffed like he had all the answers. ‘They’re not _yours_ and Claire, she works for me.’ He scoffed again, the sound venom in his throat. ‘What’s it like having someone else’s play thing? She tell you about the scar on her shoulder?’ Rob’s grin was cocky for a split second before Owen hit him again, a myriad of reasons crossing over the young man’s thoughts as his fist flew through the air. 

‘Go on, admit you hurt her. Do it, Rob, I dare you.’ Owen leered watching the man sway in front of him, spitting blood on the lawn. A beat passed, Owen scoffing as he hissed _thought not_. ‘Find her another job,’ Owen cut him off, Rob’s mouth open, ready to spout something stupid, talking over the man’s pathetic whimpers. ‘Something worth her merits and her time if you think you can’t control yourself.’ He knew Cassie already had an agreement written up, she was waiting for the long weekend to be over before she got Claire to sign it, before it was slipped into an envelope and delivered to Rob’s lawyers. But, Owen wanted to have a crack at the man himself, considering he had the idiotic thought of turning up. 

He didn’t want to give Rob credit for anything but the man knew how to back down when the opportunity was handed to him. Owen never liked to think of himself as a threatening guy. Then years in the military tended to bring it out in him, with the simple curl of his fist and snarl at an enemy. 

‘Oi, and Rob?’ Owen called to him, the man almost to the sidewalk. ‘Next time you hire a young woman straight out of college - don’t fucking touch her.’ It was an empty warning, one Owen would never be able to follow up on, but enough that he hoped Rob would think before he acted the next time. 

Owen shut the door with force, banging his hand against the wood in rage for a split second. he took a deep breath, trying to find his calm before he moved for the stairs, desperate to check in on Claire and the boys. _His_ boys. Owen didn’t know where he stood with her, still, the burn of her night with Rob still a sore point. And sure, when she had kissed her way up his chest the morning of his birthday, the boys quiet on the monitor, Owen gave in. He was human after all, but was still trying to come to terms with the options he had. He didn’t want to leave her, but he didn’t know if they would fully recover. 

They were snoozing exactly as he had left them, Isaac having rolled onto his back, arms and legs splayed as far as he could reach. Claire’s fingers curled around Isaac’s leg, as her other arm held Oliver protectively to her chest. Owen watched them, counting the rise and fall of their chests. Something settled against his ribcage warm with comfort and absolute certainty. He would guard them so long as they kept him around. 

He slipped into the bathroom to wash the blood from his knuckles before he found a space behind Claire. It was just enough to curl himself around her, where he could watch over the woman like she watched over her boys. ‘Who was at the door?’ She asked quietly, words drawn out in sleepy thought, coated in the reminder that she was still ill. 

Owen tucked his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘No one.’ Claire settled into his embrace, shifting herself just slightly to align her back with his chest. 

‘Don’t fall asleep,’ She mumbled, succumbing to the feel of his arms around her. ‘The boys’ll fall off the bed.’ Owen hummed, kissing her hair a second time, soaking in the smell. 

Claire’s hand didn’t ease from Isaac’s cubby foot, keeping her hold as Owen promised he was on guard. He was willing to lie there, watching over them as their chests rose and fell, the same blood beating through their veins as he counted the lucky stars that had blessed him. 

[…]

‘You hit him?!’ Cassie laughed, the sound slipping from her throat before she had the chance to stop it. Owen nodded, weak smile on his face as he held up three fingers. She laughed uncontrollably, head thrown back, hand on her chest. ‘Oh that is not good.’ Her brother shrugged, a hand rubbing over the back of his neck as he sat uncomfortably in her office. ‘Well, he hasn’t countered the restraining order so far as I’ve heard. He could, based on assault, but I don’t know if he’d want to.’ Cassie shook her head, laughing to herself a little more before she sobered. Owen’s visit to her office was unexpected but not unpleasant, although the conflict on her brother’s face was hard to ignore. ‘What’s going on?’ 

Owen groaned, his head in his hands as he sat on the edge of the love seat in her office. Cassie knew of the turmoil swirling in his head, the push and pull that had him wading in and out of Claire’s grasp. He adored her, worshiped her even - was willing to lay her path with rose petals for the rest of her days but couldn’t get over the hurt. 

‘You know you’re going to have to make up your mind, sooner rather than later.’ Cassie offered, voice soft as she watched her brother mentally fight himself. 

He wanted to claim that he didn’t know where he stood with her. It was a useless argument. Owen knew, she whispered it to him enough in the dark of her bedroom, her fingers on his face as she asked that he forgive her, that what she did didn’t come between them, that he stay.

‘I know it’s fucking shitty but, I can’t give you all the answers. I don’t even know them myself.’ Cassie offered, listening to him grovel as she frowned. ‘She hates herself for it, Owen. But, god, I don’t know. There’s a story there that isn’t mine to tell, you need to ask her. Trust her, give her enough space so she can open up to you.’ Cassie knew far more than she had let on, Claire gave her everything from start to finish. The younger woman’s stories were hers, Cassie couldn’t offer them to her brother to give the man some peace of mind. He had to uncover them himself. She knew too, and hoped that it was something Owen recognised. Had Rob been anyone else, this would not have happened - Claire would have stayed home with Owen and the boys, leaving nothing amiss. ’Here’s my question; do you love her enough to forgive her?’ 

Owen didn’t have to hesitate on his answer. Sure, he hadn’t used the word yet and the idea of it still made his heart skip a beat. At the end of the day, everything aside. He loved her. ‘I defended her, I called them _my_ boys. I didn’t want him _anywhere_ near them.’ He was trying to describe the emotion, a finger tracing over the lines of his hand as he refused to look his sister in the eye.

Cassie hummed. ‘You went caveman.’ The comment was humorous, the woman chuckling in her seat as she watched emotion cross her brother. Some small part of her - the part that wasn’t Claire’s legal counsel - was proud of her brother for hitting the arrogant man with nothing but destruction in his path. Cassie was not his therapist, which unfortunately meant she was a little unprofessional at times, but she had her moments and she always knew how to elect the right response from her brothers. 

‘They’re mine.’ Owen grumbled, voice wet as he blinked back tears eyes darting from his hands to the window. Cassie repeated her caveman comment softly as she watched her brother with a fondness she reserved for her children. 

‘Now,’ Cassie sighed, reaching forward to drop her hand to her brother’s knee. ‘As much as I have enjoyed this lunch hour. You need to go talk to someone - preferably Claire.’ Owen nodded, unaware of the things his sister knew, the gaps in the story she could provide in order to settle his mind. The reason why the restraining order was taken directly to Rob and rather than through the courts. She knew he didn’t need it, Owen had realised it on his own. They were his. Claire, Isaac, and Oliver. Despite not owning any claim to them other than constant supporter. They were his.

[…]

‘Where are the boys?’ Owen asked, stepping around Claire as he moved to pull a bottle of water out of the fridge. His breathing was laboured, falling heavily as he tried to settle his erratic heart. Partly it was due to the run he had gone on seconds before stepping through the door, the other half nerves flaring in his system once his eyes caught sight of Claire. 

A second after the question lifted from his mouth, Isaac clanked something beside her feet. It was Ollie who noticed him, peering around the edge of his twin brother as she gaped; ‘Da-da?!’ Falling from his lips as he lifted his arms above his head and waved his fingers. Owen knew enough to know the boy wanted to be picked up. 

‘We would have gone on a run with you.’ Claire told him, watching the man dressed in gym clothes scoop her son up. 

Owen shrugged. ‘I, ah, needed to clear my head.’ He huffed, pressing a kiss to Ollie’s head as he moved for the fridge in desperate search for water.

She watched him quietly for a moment, her son in his arms, before prodding. ‘About?’ 

‘Us,’ Owen answered quietly, struggling to hold her eye as he guzzled the bottle he found. ‘The boys … why the hell I’m still standing here.’

‘Oh.’ She fell silent, her eyes caught on the slope of his shoulder as she waited for the next blow. 

He was quiet, trying to catch his breath as his lungs panted desperate to breath on a normal level before he had this conversation. ’I love you.’ Owen told her on a deep exhale, blinking as the words slipped from him. He had tried to control it for so long, restraining as she moaned in his ear. Although clumsy, Owen realised now that it would have been easier. ‘But, I’ve been standing around waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s killing me, Claire. I know he _hurt_ you, I know you can’t put it in words, but I can’t understand why you went back to him and why you didn’t tell me. You _chose_ him all while I was sitting right here with _your_ kids.’ 

Claire wanted to scream, to shout, to plead her case for the whole neighbourhood to hear. Instead she rubbed at her temples, trying to stop the way he said _I love you_ from replaying in her head. They had coasted over the topic of Rob, Claire handing over small details but nothing big, holes left in her tread marks. She thought she had already sworn herself black and blue, the tears making her eyes puffy, sobs leaving her throat scratchy as she promised it wouldn’t happen again. 

She wished she could go back and reiterate that it only happened once. Rob hadn’t touched her since she told him she was pregnant, he let her be under the strict instruction of her doctor who faked a report after she caught the tears in Claire’s eyes. Why he had left it so long after the boys were born, Claire didn’t know, nor did she question the motive. It was the first time in seventeen months that she and Rob had picked up their affair and resumed it. The taste in her mouth was vile, she couldn’t stand to look at her reflection, let alone think of her sons as his touch lingered on her skin. She had pulled over three times on the way home just to throw up her body desperately trying to reject her actions. 

She didn’t know how to put into words the turmoil and guilt that washed over her. The panic she felt the second she stepped into Rob’s hotel room, the instant excuse she made up to leave. How could she tell Owen that Rob wouldn’t let her go, that he demanded a last hurrah as he shoved her against the wall. He would kill the man if he knew what had happened, if she offered up the whole truth and not just part of it. She barely managed to put herself together after Rob was done with her, the man snoring on his stomach peacefully as Claire staggered home. 

She broke down at the sight of his truck in her driveway. She hadn’t forgotten about them but the thought of facing him, Owen none the wiser cracked something inside her chest. Claire put up a facade, trying to keep the depths of her experiences to herself. She was trying to compartmentalise, to push it all to the back of her mind in the hopes of forgetting about it. 

Claire shook her head, mouth moving without the words. It took a second Owen mid speech about how he felt he wasn’t good enough for her, not if she kept damming herself. ‘Owen, no. - No. I didn’t … I didn’t choose him over you.’ She scrubbed a hand over her face not before closing the lid on her laptop and pushing it away. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’ 

‘You could have told me. I could have - I don’t know what I could have done, but I could have done something, Claire. You didn’t have to do that to protect yourself. I could have protected you.’ She bristled softly, shoulders setting as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘Don’t you dare say that you can do it for yourself, Claire, you’ve proved that you can’t.’

‘I am _trying_ to the best of my ability.’ Her voice broke, tears welling in her eyes. What the hell was she supposed to do? There was a light in her thoughts that had gone out, Rob swooped in and took advantage of that. Under his watch she was weak and feeble, unable to breathe without direction and incapable of being loved. ‘They’re my responsibility, Owen. I have to protect them from him anyway I can. It doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.’ Her voice raised a slight octave reaching a low yell. 

Owen fell quiet, not willing to comment after Claire lost her cool, unsure exactly of what he could say. The clock ticked between them, time passing in seconds then minutes until she breached it on her own.

‘Please don’t tell me you love me and then leave.’ She broke, her shoulders falling as a sob slipped from her mouth. Owen, who was leaning against the fridge moved closer at the sight of her tears. Claire shook her head, ‘I don’t want him. I want _you_. I _choose_ you _._ ’ She hiccuped, wiping tears from her face as she watched for his expression. ‘I don’t want him.’ Claire repeated, ‘I didn’t want him. I never, Owen - I never …’ She warbled sounding like her chatterbox sons and their baby nonsense. ‘I told him I didn’t want to. I said I was going to leave but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ Claire couldn’t say the words. There was no way to tell Owen that Rob had _raped_ her, forcing himself on her despite Claire’s quiet plea for him to let her go. 

He grasped the concept. The bottle in Owen’s hand flew into the sink clanging angrily against stainless steel. On his hip, Ollie flinched, little eyes growing wide as he reached for the security of his mother. ‘I should have fucking hit him harder.’ He half wished he had killed him. Who was this man to think he could lay a hand on perfect Claire, to force her into something she didn’t want - not just the once, but many times before. 

‘You _hit_ him?!’ Owen shrugged, nodding a little as he tried to resettle Ollie despite the anger bubbling in his bloodstream. He was honest with her, tracking back two weeks to when Rob had stopped by. The arrogance he expressed was enough that Owen couldn’t help himself, his fist colliding with Rob’s face on more than one strike. ‘He came here?’ Claire stuttered asking the question Owen had just given an answer to. 

Owen didn’t miss the way she trembled, worry flashing in her eyes. He was over it. Sick of her being scared thanks to Rob’s inability to be a quality human. He didn’t want Claire to be scared or worried about the things in her world. He wanted her to know she was safe. 

He rounded the bench, Ollie practically tearing from him as the boy leaned towards his mother until Claire plucked him from Owen’s arms. ‘Don’t worry.’ Owen wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. ‘He won’t come back. He is _never_ coming back, Claire.’ He kissed her cheek, large hands encompassing either side of her head. ‘I won’t let him come back, I won’t let him touch you. Never again. Okay?’ She nodded, trying to get her emotions in check while he wiped at her tears, pushing them off her cheeks before they fell on Ollie’s head. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He promised firmly, looking her dead in the eye.

It was a promise he was willing to make good on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: something life changing worms its way into Owen and Claire's lives.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I didn’t think this was going to get done this week. But it is Tuesday which used to be the original post day so I worked my butt off because you all were so kind with the initial news. We might have a similar sitch next week so be prepared for Chap 10 to be behind. 
> 
> I did a quick read over but not a proper edit, so I hope it’s not too messy.

Claire didn’t trust the daycare she had enrolled the boys in. Owen thought she was being ridiculous. It was daycare, there was nothing that could go wrong and nothing that could equally go right. He was convinced that it was guilt, Claire beating herself up for returning back to work regardless of the fact that it well overdue. Claire, having gone back to work for the first time since she took her maternity leave, was only there four days a week. Although she lived for her job, she was still struggling to adjust to life without her sons making noise in the same room. A part of her, filled with shame and self-hate, felt she was bereaving them of time with their mother. 

Owen, in expressing Claire’s fears to his boss, found his five days a week cut back to four with some paid parental benefits. He was not the biological father to those children, nor was he living in Claire’s house - permanently anyway - but his employers technically didn’t know that. Owen had met Claire before his job started. She existed, in his mind, long before they did. And he wasn’t exactly about to complain when they gave him permission to have a day off all in order to spend it with Ollie and Isaac. 

The boys were crawling like demons, disappearing at every second as soon as Owen turned his back. They were driving him half mad with the rate in which they moved. That and they had started pulling themselves up on the furniture, ripping things off on their way up before standing there and destroying everything in arms reach. 

He was excited for their new milestone, over the moon that they were standing, their little minds preparing to walk. In the same breath, Owen was terrified. They did enough damage on their hands and knees what could they accomplish once they’d mastered standing on two feet? In an effort to confine them to small, designated, sections of the house Claire’s home was bracketed in baby gates. Marvellous inventions, in theory - Ollie had already pushed himself through the bars of one. Isaac, in an attempt to taste the same freedom his brother had found; got himself stuck. Not to mention the trip hazard they became in the middle of the night. 

It took a week for them to trash their mothers house. A week in which Owen and Claire learnt that they had to move everything up and out of baby reach. The bottom two shelves of everything in her home were empty, vacant like a flood had flushed through and ripped it all away. 

His Friday’s were spent trying to keep Claire’s home as tidy as she had left it - or at least in one piece. That task alone was difficult in and of itself. The reward was well worth it, the click of Claire’s heels in the doorway, the happy sound of her coming home to eager little boys and the thankful little kiss she pressed to the corner of his mouth. 

Entertaining them was hard. All they wanted to do was deconstruct the home they had been living in. Noise was their favourite, anything that let them squeal alongside it was perfectly fine for Ollie and Isaac. Owen had set them up in the yard, grass green under their blanket as they sat with a bunch of Claire’s pots and pans, wooden spoons in their hands. They had only watched him for a minute, silently questioning what he had set up for them. When Owen tapped his hand on the makeshift drum Isaac startled to life with excitement. 

It was the sort of ruckus that drove Claire crazy, wishing her little boys were into quieter activities. Owen didn’t mind so much. When Claire wasn’t home he let the boys play, sitting out in the yard with them, his guitar slung over his shoulder. They jammed, or so he liked to think. The boys were never rough with music, only overly enthusiastic, hitting metal as Owen tried to teach them a beat. 

He heard Claire’s heels on the floorboards, her keys jingling through the house before she deposited them on the kitchen counter with her bag. Claire’s routine was marked to a tee, each second she took from the door to her bedroom and back out again. She changed the second she got home, often pausing to bug the boys before rushing off to get out of her work clothes before they were soiled. 

‘Hey,’ She appeared behind him minutes later, her arms slinking around his neck as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Owen turned his head, meeting her for a second domestic kiss. He had opened himself up to their relationship, only to become more observant. Claire was hesitant in instigating affection between them. She was first to reach for his hand, or tug him towards the bedroom but never was she the first in letting her lips meet his. 

‘What’s got you in a good mood?’ He asked, smiling against the warmth of her kiss as she graced him with a second and third. Claire grinned, smile wide and bright, joy radiating off her face. Owen had seen her happy plenty of times, he had even been the one to grant it on more than one occasion. Her smile was different that evening, warm like the afternoon soaked in honey, patiently ready to burst at the seams. 

‘I got a job!’ She half squealed, excitement bursting from her as she leant against him. Owen twisted his arms to wrap them around her, pulling Claire into his lap before he fell backwards. He peppered kisses across her cheeks and neck just as he did each time the boys threw themselves at him, Claire giggling against his chest. 

Isaac shrieked, the little noise coming from his throat at the realisation that his mother was getting attention. Owen felt the boy’s hand on his leg, but chose to focus on Claire. She had been looking for new opportunities under Cassie - and Owen’s - strong suggestion. 

She pushed up from his chest with a large smile, reconnecting with the grass instead of his body as Isaac crawled into her lap. Claire kissed the crown of her son’s head as Owen asked her questions. _The_ Simon Masrani, of Masrani Global offered her a job out of the blue. The most Owen knew of Masrani was that the man was ranked in the top ten of the wealthiest men on the planet, he owned oil rigs or something of that fashion. So far as he was concerned, a job was a job and if he needed anything Claire would be more than capable to fulfil it. 

‘He wants me to run his D.C. office,’ She told him with excitement the location passing over Owen’s ears with the speed in which she told him. ‘It’s so odd,’ Claire announced, crinkle dipping in her forehead. ‘Rob was the one who gave Masrani my name.’ 

Owen smiled inwardly at the thought of Rob speaking kindly on Claire’s behalf. He owed her that much after keeping her chained to his side selfishly. Owen couldn’t express the gratitude on the exterior of his face, muscles caught on pensive as he stared at the space between Claire and Isaac. 

‘D.C.?’ He asked a little painfully, head twisting in thought. ‘Claire, that’s on the other side of the country.’ Owen couldn’t say any more, too busy focusing on the distance between where they were now and where she would eventually be. Because she _would_ eventually be there. He was the one who told her to look for a new job, along side his sister, to get away from Robert, to pick up and start again. Owen didn’t think it would be _that_ far, though he supposed it could have been worse. She could have been offered work in Europe or Australia. 

He wanted her to pick a destination that would be easy to access, where they could keep up the unofficial - _official_ \- routine they had designed around the other. Washington D.C. was not within Owen’s reach. 

She hummed, unaware of his internal struggle, the pain coursing through him already causing paralysis in his extremities. ‘They want me to move before the new year. There’s a house already waiting. Masrani just wants the transition to be as smooth as possible.’ It would be as far from smooth as Owen could imagine. It would be as hard and rough as the rubble scattered across Iraq, it would hurt like a band-aid ripping hair right out of its follicles, left too long, the glue sealed too well, merging in one with the skin. 

‘So, you’re going?’ He asked, the question coming off wounded. He didn’t know how to admit that he was hurt, that he so desperately wanted to ask if she had thought about him. Owen still felt as though he didn’t have the right to ask that question.

He promised he wouldn’t leave her, that he would stay and mend the relationship they had barely started. And here she was, Claire Dearing, job opportunity arising on the other side of the country.

She had been twirling a daisy through her fingers, watching it as Isaac tried to pluck it from her hand. Claire stopped the minute Owen spoke. ‘It’s what Cassie told me to do.’ She looked as hurt as she felt, and as conflicted as the high seas. He wanted to smother her doubts, but he couldn’t. ‘It’s a fantastic opportunity, Owen. The D.C. office is somewhat new, Masrani wants to train me as his head of operations. He has hopes the place could be mine in a year or two. It is financially stable, not to mention convenient in it’s inconvenience. The company is willing to cater to the boys; scholarships, extra curricular activities, the works. They have access to the best school the capital and Virginia have to offer. It’s closer to Karen. I’d be crazy to turn this down.’ Claire watched him with a close eye trying to judge the expression on his face as she counted through the things Masrani Global could do for her, the things Owen half dreamed she would have. 

He would have to be insane to stop her. Owen didn’t want her to go, he wanted to keep their makeshift family and hold on forever. ‘No,’ Owen shook his head, ‘You should take it’. For some reason it felt like he was saying goodbye. 

If he wanted to play tough, he would claim that he didn’t need her. Owen would be wrong. Claire was the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins. She was every hackneyed phrase, penned at the hands of lovesick poets. She was every line from a movie, every admission of need, of love, of sustainability. He needed her like he needed the most important things in life, laughter, light ran on a sunny morning, and the kiss of warm sand on his toes.

Claire Dearing, Owen had decided, did not need him. She had her boys, she had new prospects, and she had a fresh life away from Robert Doyle’s threatening thumb. Owen Grady was old news. 

‘Karen’s going to pick up the keys.’ He had zoned out, missing most of Claire’s dialogue as she delivered the final blow; Masrani wanted her to start within the month. He let her ramble with excitement, new prospects rolling off her tongue, despite the sinking feeling in his gut. Owen was thankful Claire had found a new lease on life, the quiet but stubborn woman coming out her shell. He was never going to see them again after she moved to D.C., it was on the other side of the country and as much as he liked to think long distance could work; Owen knew it wouldn’t. 

She had stopped talking somewhere between Oliver’s resumed pot banging and the desire for dinner. Claire bathed one rugrat after the other, neither boy capable of being washed with his brother. They had a habit of creating a mess even with two able adults present, Claire preferred to avoid it. Owen watched their food cook, turning it at the right time and letting it simmer as Claire traded one boy on his hip for the other. She gave him sweet almonds and Isaac’s soft hair for Oliver who smelt of dirt and grass and the diaper he had conveniently just soiled. 

Owen was happy to hold Isaac, the boy heavy on his hip, small fingers curled tightly against the back of Owen’s shirt as the other grasped a clean wooden spoon, waving it dangerously close to Owen’s face. He revelled in the sweet smell of the boy, freshly cleaned and somewhat drowsy thanks to the innocent lull of warm water. He pressed his cheek to the soft downy brown hair of the boy’s head, breaking away to kiss the very same spot. 

As everything did in that house, they worked in tandem. Owen was trying not to commit the weight of the boy to memory, the smell of him, and the of the sizzling curry or the ease in which he and Claire had locked down dinner and bedtime. Every inch of it was pulling away from his grasp, fading into thin air as it disappeared. This would no longer exist, the comfort nor the familiarity that had grown. One day in the following four weeks it would simply _cease._

‘You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.’ Claire mused, settling herself on the sofa behind his head, Owen happily sitting on the floor with pyjama clad twins at his side. Her fork clinked against the sides of her bowl as she watched him in the quiet, TV volume down low. 

Owen was sitting on the living room rug, his back against the sofa, bowl balanced on his knee. One hand held his spoon, the other held Oliver’s bottle as the little boy lay tucked in his lap, happy to be fed despite being given the bottle to feed himself. Isaac sat in front of Owen like the eager little puppy Claire’s neighbours had when she was a child. He was eyeing off Owen’s bowl, watching the man scoop food into his mouth, hoping someone would come his way. 

No matter how many times Claire told him not to, Owen always shared with Isaac. It had formed their bond a little better than what it had initially been. The man bribing the boys with food. Now, however, her son thought he would be fed whenever Owen was eating; which was more often than not. 

‘Were they okay for you today?’ She asked a little worried, terrified that the boys had misbehaved, wearing Owen out or causing him to have a bad day. She watched Isaac’s eyes cart the movement of a drop curry as Owen unceremoniously dropped food on his brother’s forehead. Isaac didn’t move for it. _Good boy_. 

Owen shrugged, dropping the spoon back to his bowl as he wiped the food off her child, Ollie grunting a little. ‘Just quiet.’ Owen mumbled around a mouthful of food to explain his broody disposition. She saw the jogging stroller in the hallway, wheels wet, a heavy indicator that he had gone on a run with the twins. 

She watched Isaac lean into the small offering of rice on Owen’s spoon. Claire had half a mind to warn the man of choking hazards but knew everything would be alright. Had Owen not thought it safe, he wouldn’t have offered it. ‘Really?’ Claire hummed, raising an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. ‘I thought it was because you’re less than thrilled with the news.’

Claire was baiting him and Owen wasn’t stupid enough to miss it. He hummed again, chewing his food before swallowing. His shrug was long and low, already miserable, ’Yeah, well, you moving to D.C. wasn’t exactly the most _thrilling_ thing I wanted to hear today’. He didn’t turn to look at her, instead kept his eye on Isaac or the TV; Claire couldn’t tell. 

Silence vibrated, ringing in their ears as a sports commentator repeated the score. 

‘Come with me.’ Her voice was quiet, barely there in the the dim room. It rang in his ears. ‘Owen, you said you loved me, you said you would never leave - that you weren’t going anywhere. Don’t make me go to D.C. alone.’ 

In a swift move, Owen placed his bowl to the side, he scooped an arm under half asleep Oliver - still suckling at his bottle - as he turned, elbows on the edge of the couch, weight pushing him up so he could kiss her. Ollie grumbled, bottle falling from his sleep slack mouth as a cry bubbled in his chest. 

‘You made me a promise, don’t you dare back out of it now. You’re coming. I know I can’t make this decision for both of us, but I need this, and I want you there.’ She hadn’t thought that she needed to express his invitation. Claire half expected Owen to offer his company, extend his promise to another state, a new home, a new life. She rolled her eyes at the stupidity of him, her hands on his stubble covered cheeks as she kissed him sweetly. 

There had been a divide before dinner, as it bubbled on the stove, swapping dirty children for clean ones too scared to say a word. She should have known, should have felt the tension and realised what it was for. In a respect, they were both completely ridiculous. 

Claire’s eye drifted away from Owen’s face to the toddler on the floor - ‘Isaac, no!’ She shrieked but it was too late, her breath wasted the boy’s face already covered in Owen’s dinner. ‘See, this is why you don’t feed him from your plate.’ Claire scolded, pulling away from the man to scoop up her slippery child. ‘Should have gotten a dog instead of pregnant.’ She chuckled wiping at Isaac’s orange face as the giggled, trying to pull his face away from the wipe. 

‘It’s not all that bad.’ Owen teased, guilt free and innocent despite the fact that it was his dinner the boy had greedily swiped. Instead, he focused on the infant in his arms, small frown engraved on Ollie’s face. The boy was deadweight an easy signal that he had fallen asleep two hours before his designated bedtime.

He heard her huff, a heavy breath falling from her mouth. ‘Not completely.’ She hummed, watching Owen cradle her sleeping son in broad arms. There had been a time, only seven months ago where he had scooped the very same little boy into his arms. Ollie then had been tiny, two months old, barely an infant let alone a human. She never thought his kindness then would have extended to this moment, traced them seven months across the year, weeks away from Christmas. ‘You gonna put him to bed?’ 

Owen half shrugged, ‘I can’t tell if it’s a danger nap, or if he’s actually out for the night.’ He mused looking away from the boy to seek answers in his mother. Claire was playing with a clean face wipe, brushing it over Isaac’s face as the boy giggled. 

‘At this point, there’s no knowing but I’ll take my chances.’ Both boys had a habit of falling asleep early, on rare occasions, too tired to keep their eyes open through the ride home or dinner. They had made the mistake in putting them to bed early assuming they were tired enough to make it through the whole night. They were proved wrong, rudely, when the twins rose before the sun and refused to go back to sleep. 

Owen rose slowly, careful not to disrupt the boy. Claire kissed Ollie’s forehead as Owen passed her, keeping Isaac away from his brother. If anything would wake him it would be Isaac hitting him with a heavy fist. 

He settled in his crib easily, little limbs falling before his back touched the mattress. Owen waited for a moment, hand on Ollie’s chest, certain that the boy had fallen asleep before he stepped away. Returning to the living room, Claire and Isaac had settled on the couch, the boy nursing quietly his fingers playing with Claire’s necklace as his eyes drooped. 

‘Are you really going to come to D.C. with us?’ She asked quietly, trying to hold back the smile that was creeping across her face. Isaac kicked him, small foot hitting Owen’s thigh the child already growing too long for the safe confines of his mother’s arms. He nudged the boy back, pressing at his foot with the heel of his hand, allowing the boy to push back. 

‘Yeah, I mean I don’t know what I’m going to do for work. But, I’m on board. If you’ll have me.’ 

[…] 

They were set to move the week before Christmas. Karen relocated herself to D.C. in order to collect Claire’s belongings, bossing around movers to make sure the new house was ready for her sister and her fussy little boys. The twins were going to be unsettled in the new house regardless of what was in it or not, but Karen, in her best attempts was trying to make it seem as much like home as possible - with the guidance of Claire over the phone. 

Owen had to stay behind. They planned to move and settle before Christmas, readjust to their new lives before Claire’s job started after the holidays. That and they wanted to be comfortable, away from airports and the mess of missing furniture before Christmas Day. Claire would be, Owen would be lucky if he arrived early enough to kiss the boys goodnight their first Christmas Eve.

It unnerved Claire having to fly alone with the twins. They had discussed, at length, taking one each - Isaac going with Claire, Oliver staying with Owen but bowed to the reality that the boys would not cope apart for very long. Had it been an overnight situation Claire would have readily agreed, but six nights with out one of her babies was impossible.

They had already experienced a trial and error in separation, Oliver screaming bloody murder when Isaac was taken to daycare without him Owen keeping the smallest boy home his fever not quiet gone. He hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong until Isaac came home on Claire’s hip, his brother reaching for him frantically. It was a mistake they weren’t willing to make again. 

The airport was full of sights and sounds that had the boys whipping their heads left and right in an attempt to catch it all. Waiting passengers grinned as the little family walked passed terminals, each twin in Owen’s arms, holding each other’s hand against his back. They talked to him, in their nonsense words, pointing at things and reaching for Claire. She walked ahead of them briskly only looking back when one of the boys squawked ‘Mama!’ 

Sights and sounds only kept them entertained for so long, the boys were behind on their nap and feeding - which was a ploy adopted by Claire in the hope that they would settle on the plane with a bottle and the promise of a deep sleep. Owen wasn’t sure how lucky she’d be to get a nap out of either of them let alone both but he wasn’t ready to voice that thought. She had seven hours with her restless kin and didn’t need the reminder that it was likely to not go according to plan. 

The terminal was the worst. The boys had finally had enough of the fanfare that erected itself around them, something in their small minds knowing this was the end of the line. ‘Looks like someone doesn’t want me to stay behind.’ Owen hummed, both boys having dropped their heads to his shoulder, hands on his chest. 

‘Them and me both.’ Claire hummed somewhat mournfully as she drank in the man holding her boys. It was only going to be a week, not even, five days at the most. She wasn’t going to be alone in D.C., Karen was already there, her sons joining them in a few days for the holidays. 

Owen apologised, there was only so much he could do. It was his bosses at the end of the day that held him back, incomplete work need his approval before they signed it off. That, and it gave Owen the opportunity to see the house sold. They didn’t think it would go in a week, but he was there for any questions prospective new owners might have. 

‘Karen’ll be at the airport when you arrive.’ He reminded Claire, kissing her delicately as she stepped forward to take Isaac first.He would be the first to accept being strapped into the carseat without too much of a fuss. Oliver was their issue, the small boy developing a deep connection with Owen that hated to be apart for too long. ‘Everything will be fine, Claire.’ She hummed halfheartedly, raising an eyebrow at the man as the hostess at the gate called for first priority passengers. Claire was one. 

She eyed the little boy in Owen’s arms, the child feigning closed eyes in the hope that he could stay where he was. It wouldn’t work. Claire wanted to leave him with Owen, knowing the child would be fine in the man’s care, but he fell apart when his brother was too far away or when his mother wasn’t there. The time apart was too long to test it out, the boy too young to be exposed to it. 

Owen kissed the top of the boy’s head, squeezing him for a second before he peeled the child from his chest. Ollie whimpered, protesting quietly at the movement as he changed hands before his mother buckled him into the carseat. 

A crease had developed across his brow, small lip wobbling. There was a cry waiting to release itself and yet Ollie held onto it. ‘Now boys,’ Owen crouched down in front of their carseats, a hand extended to each child to grab onto. ‘I need you to be good for your ma, okay? No crying, no fussing, no fighting. She’ll feed you as soon as the plane is in the air, I promise.’ He mostly bargained with Isaac, the boy trying to gnaw on his finger and the feistiest of the two. ‘If you do that, I’ll buy you a car for your 18th.’ Claire scoffed, rolling her eyes as Owen returned to his normal height. ‘Yeah, just wait ’til they figure out they have to share.’ He laughed, hands sliding around Claire’s waist to better pull the woman against him. 

She kissed him with a fierce hunger that needed to last the duration of their separation. It would be odd settling into life without him for a little while even if she could count the days on one hand. Owen had been by her side for a short time and yet she had already grown accustom to his presence. Living without it was going to be a test in strength until she had him back again. 

‘I’ll see you in five days,’ She sighed pecking his lips as priority was called a second time. Owen nodded, his forehead pressed to hers, echoing the amount of time they would be spending apart. ‘I’ll call as soon as we land.’ 

[…]

Owen felt like he was behind schedule despite knowing his flight times for a little under four weeks. It was all that was available at the time that would get him to D.C. the fastest, and _before_ the holidays. That was his only concern, being there for the boys on Christmas morning to see their young faces light up at the sight of a mountain worth of gifts.

Claire had reasoned that they wouldn’t spoil the twins, it was their first Christmas and one they were likely to not remember. The gifts stacked up in her cupboard, clothes and plush animals, cars and trucks and play sets, toys that made annoying sounds and others that promised to sing her kids to sleep. It wasn’t all from them, some of it arrived on behalf of Owen’s family, others thanks to hers. But, their small uneventful Christmas was promising to be bigger than ever imagined. Owen didn’t want to miss that. 

Claire’s sister, Karen, picked him up from the airport at 9:15pm. She wrapped him in an eager hug, so eager to finally meet the man that stole her sister’s heart. Owen and Claire spoke every night before they settled down to sleep, Claire filling him in on the boys’ day while Owen whispered how much he missed them. There was hardly a thing Karen needed to fill him in on, he knew it already, but it didn’t stop her from boasting about her nephews and how incredibly charming they were. 

‘Are you Ollie and Isaac’s dad?’ Gray, the youngest Mitchell asked as Owen climbed out of the car, half marvelling at the new home in front of him. He blinked, eyes drawn down to the boy standing beside him. ‘Aunt Claire said you are.’ He couldn’t help but feel the flutter in his chest. Owen consider them _his_ , but Claire never verbally acknowledged to other people that he was the father of her twins. 

He crouched down to Gray’s height, smiling at the boy as he introduced himself. Karen, behind them, grumbled a question asking her excitable six-year-old why he wasn’t in bed yet. It was Christmas Eve and if he planned on opening presents in the morning he needed to be fast asleep. ‘Goodnight,’ Gray uttered quickly before dashing off into the house and calling for his brother.

‘Those boys will be the death of me.’ Karen sighed, grinning as she shook her head. 

Owen shrugged, ‘They’re not all that bad. Think of the sleep in tomorrow.’ She barked a laugh so loud a hand flew out to touch Owen’s arm. 

‘Oh please, they’ll be up as the sun rises and be grumpy by nine.’ She rolled her eyes, commenting on his endearing nature. ‘If your boys aren’t already doing that, they’ll start soon.’ She grinned warning Owen of the troubles in parenthood he was yet to encounter. 

Karen disappeared once they stepped inside the house, moving after her sons to check they had climbed back in bed. He stood in the foyer dumbstruck for a moment, unsure of what to do in an unfamiliar home. He wanted Claire, to see her face, to kiss her cheeks, and boys too. At this moment, he didn’t care if they were asleep or halfway through a feed, he just wanted to scoop them in his arms and never let go for a few days.

He didn’t know where they were in the house that was now theirs, much bigger than the place they left behind. Never, in a million years, would Claire have been able to afford something so lavish and large, and yet it was perfectly hers. Knick knacks already scoured shelves, her books stacked away, her furniture settled in a new home, coated in the same pillows and throws. 

She appeared around a corner, seemingly out of nowhere as she threw herself at him. ‘You’re home!’ She whispered against his neck, her face buried there as he held her up, Claire’s legs locked around his waist. 

Owen stood like that, in the foyer, holding her up as he breathed her in Claire peppering soft kisses across his skin. It certainly didn’t feel like home while he was standing there alone, but now that she was there; in his arms. He could see how this house could become their own. 

‘Where are the boys?’ He asked curiously the question burning at his fingertips, the man desperate to see them. Claire pulled away from his body, her feet back on the ground as she took Owen’s hand. The path was similar to the old house, up the stairs and to the right. The nursery was bigger than what it had been, empty space enough to fit two of Claire’s ideal nursing chairs without cramming the space. They had needed that for the longest time, saving Owen from sitting on the floor or retreating to the bedroom when it was time for the boys to be fed.

For the season, Claire had hung christmas lights over their cribs, pushed together against one wall setting the room in a festive glow. ‘They’re due to be fed again in an hour, you wanna do it?’ She asked him softly, arm wrapped around his as Owen stepped towards the cribs only to peer in. He hummed, of course he did. Feeding the boys was one of his favourite pastimes, especially in the middle of the night they were warm and heavy with sleep, just the right amount of cuddly as they tried to determine how badly they wanted to eat over their good dreams. 

Claire, with a kiss to his cheek disappeared to find their bottles while Owen remained watching their chests rise and fall with the rhythm of their breathing. He didn’t know how he ended up on the floor, back pressed against the cots, his arm bent, twisted into each. He’d fallen asleep like that, only stirring when Claire kicked his foot. 

‘C’mon, you can wake them.’ She gave him a small smile in the coloured light, a bottle in each hand. Carefully, Owen peeled himself from their cots as he slowly stood. Claire had already reached into Ollie’s cot, lifting the boy out carefully as he grunted. ‘Someone’s missed his daddy.’ She hummed. Oliver had made her life living hell in Owen’s absence, crying and putting up more of a fuss than his brother. Even Isaac was shocked at his companions behaviour, Ollie only calming when he had Owen’s voice in his ear, or face on Claire’s phone. Often their bedtime calls became FaceTime sessions for the boys. Not that Owen minded at all. 

Ollie, finally in Owen’s arms after five days away barely noticed as his little arms covered his face. He grumbled, irritated that his sleep was interrupted as he snuggled closer to the chest that held him. ‘Merry Christmas, Ollie.’ Owen whispered watching the boy’s face as confusion crinkled his brow before his young eyes popped open, surprise flashing in them once he recognised the face above him. A grin slipped across the little boy’s face, setting lines in his young skin as he giggled immediately, hands reaching for Owen’s chin. 

He buried his head against the little boy’s chest as Ollie giggled his hands gripping the man’s hair as Isaac, in his crib, rattled the bars in amusement. Claire pulled the second boy out of his crib, depositing him in Owen’s arms at the child’s grappling request. She chuckled, watching as the glee raced across their faces spilling into young giggles and shrieks. 

The last thing she wanted at that time of night was the boys rowdy and wide awake, but she couldn’t deny them of the same joy she felt in having Owen there with them in D.C.. It wasn’t home until now. His things were living alongside hers but the man had been missing for days. Now that he was back Claire never wanted to let him go and she could easily say the same for the twins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tell me what you love!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me fifty years to finally finish. Thank you to those who sent in some requests for this final part (I didn’t include all but I tried my best to do some). I hope this lives up to expectation - especially after such a long wait. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, engaging, and enjoying. I’ve loved your responses for this along the way and in that, it has made the job more bearable. 
> 
> Don’t forget your feedback for the final chapter! And if you have any Ollie & Isaac HCs/prompts, never hesitate to send them to me. x

Owen’s favourite thing - of many - was making it to the boys’ nursery before they woke. Catching them still asleep in their cribs was a rarity most days, usually they were wide awake, throwing teddies out of their prisons or poking at the other through the bars that were pressed together. They giggled, standing in their beds, facing each other amusing themselves with their baby chatter. As much as he adored them awake, there was nothing better than a morning where the baby monitor was silent, the nursery just as quiet.  


He tiptoed in, still in his pyjamas, the weather in D.C. warming just a little after the Christmas thaw a few months earlier. It was still too cold for Owen’s liking, the man dressed in flannel pants a hooded sweater thrown over his bare chest. 

His boys were still sleeping, chubby cheeks pressed to the mattress, small bums in the hair. Owen ran a large hand down each of their backs simultaneously, his large hand still covering majority of their spines. It was hard to think that today marked a full year on the planet for the both of them. They were still so small, so cuddly and babylike that he couldn’t believe they had existed for exactly twelve months. It had been ten since he walked into their lives, situating himself as Claire’s saviour in the quiet of his sisters’ work place. 

Isaac grunted as Ollie squirmed. The boys wiggled in their sleep, attempting to shake him off as Owen’s voice called out to them. ‘Good mornin’, trouble.’ Isaac only grunted again as Ollie found his pacifier with eyes closed, shoving it back into his mouth. Owen dusted a hand across Ollie’s head, revelling in the warmth of the boy and his want to reach in and scoop him up. Claire was tough on them waking on their own, doing so without the add of the _daddy cuddles_ they enjoyed so much. 

‘Trouble is right.’ She sang behind him, arms wrapping around Owen’s waist as though she hadn’t woken up beside him twenty minutes earlier. She kissed his left shoulder as Isaac sooked, forced cry leaving his mouth as he fidgeted desperate to not wake up. ‘Where’s my birthday boys?’ She asked, voice slipping into peppy baby territory as she leant over Isaac’s crib, leaving Owen to focus his attention on Oliver. 

Owen watched her with puppy eyes, begging to pull the warm baby out of his bed, easing the child into his morning rather than Ollie waking up to the harsh realities of the world. Claire only shook her head. Of course, there was no option in leaving the room. The twins would only keep on sleeping as they demonstrated the week before, snoozing an extra two hours and refusing to nap in the middle of the day when Claire put them down on schedule. It just so happened to be a hellish night as well. Which, Claire was not bellow admitting was because they let them sleep in. No, instead, they would stand there, prodding at each infant until he woke and asked to be picked up. It was almost like picking them up and soothing them into their morning, except it tended to take a little more time and usually ended in tears. 

‘There won’t be any presents for birthday boys who don’t wake up.’ Owen was sure that line wasn’t going to work on one-year-olds. Claire proved him wrong, as she tended to do - unprovoked - on more than one occasion and in multiple ways. 

Rolling onto his back, Isaac was awake, feet pressing through the bars of his crib to poke at his brother’s head. It was Ollie who cried, the little boy keeping his eyes scrunched closed as hecomplained around the pacifier in his mouth, little hands on his face as he squirmed protesting the need to wake. 

Owen pitied him. He was never one to abide by the rules, despite knowing how important they were. But, it was the twins’ first birthday - Ollie could fully wake in his dad’s arms just this once. Claire only shook her head as he leant into the boy’s crib and pulled him out. Ollie curled against him immediately, small body warm with sleep as he melded himself to Owen’s chest, head buried against his neck. 

They had no plans for an otherwise uneventful morning. With Karen in Wisconsin and Owen’s family in San Diego Claire saw no use in throwing a lavish party for the twins first birthday. Instead, she optioned for sticky sweet pancakes and allowing her children to make a mess more than usually acceptable. They were covered in kisses and hugs and quiet reflection while Claire watched them run around the backyard covered in paint Owen only eagerly pulled out of the cupboard. 

‘Those two are almost polar opposites.’ Owen mused from beside her, slipping from the inside of their usually noisy home, mugs of tea in his hands. Ollie and Isaac were in the middle of the yard, covered head to toe in streaks of multi-coloured paint. It was Isaac who was more paint than boy, wearing only a diaper as he smeared the washable substance across the play gym Owen had bought. Ollie, however was trying to wipe himself clean of the colour his brother bathed him in, his upset increasing as it only smeared on his skin rather than coming off. 

‘Chaos and control,’ Claire nodded, ‘Incomplete without the other’. She accepted the mug he handed to her, eyes still on her boys. ‘And yet, nether will go anywhere near the water.’ She couldn’t help but laugh, a sea shell sat closest to their neat patio, filled with enough water for the boys to splash in but not drown had Claire turned her back. Oliver, upset by the paint, wouldn’t touch it. ‘I can’t believe they’re a year-old.’ She hummed, watching as Isaac laughed at himself, giggles lifting into the air, spreading joy to the clouds. 

So much had happened in the space of a year, her rambunctious little boys filling every hollow space; all but the one Owen managed to fill all on his own. Claire liked to think she had grown as a person, if not a weary mother. She learnt to juggle her twin sons and eventually Owen who wiggled his way into her life on her desperate need to sleep. She wasn’t sure why she never asked him to leave, hiring a nanny would have been just as useful - more so that a complete stranger from the street. Regardless, she was thankful he never left her side and that she never had to ask him to leave. Owen transformed her life just as much as the twins had, if not more. 

‘I was thinking…’ His voice reached her in the lazy warmth of their relaxed morning, his hand on her thigh as they sat together on the patio swing. His voice sounded like it always did when he had scheme up his sleeve. She could see her life in a short amount of years replicating that tone on the lips of little boys asking for a second after dinner treat. Claire hummed her acknowledgement, watching as Ollie realised the paint on his hands translated to the paper draped across their plastic child-sized picnic table. ‘What if I adopted the boys?’ He paused for a millisecond before anxious ramblings fell from his mouth. ‘Because, I know you’re still worried about Rob but if I’m their legal father he has no ties. Like, sure, he can still try but your defence will be stronger. I don’t know maybe it’s weird. You would want to be married to the guy that adopts the twins, I just - I don’t know - I want to marry you. I do. I just, I thought it was too soon? It’s not even been a year and I don’t want to rush you but I promise the boys will be safe if I’m their legal parent. I’m always going to be here. I promise. Even if you don’t want me in the house anymore I’ll still be around.’ 

‘What makes you say you’re always going to be around?’ She asked quietly, tearing her eyes from her boys momentarily. He would have kept talking had she not interjected, small smile creeping across her face as she reached for his hand. 

Owen sighed, easy smile filling his features. ‘Honey, I’m going to be here in two months and I’m still going to be here in two years or twenty. Unless you ask me to leave, but I have no intention of going, Claire, never.’ 

‘Good,’ She nodded, leaning in to kiss him gently, smiles still dancing on their cheeks. ‘I want you to be their dad. Legally. Officially. For every bump, bruise, and teacher interview. I want them to call you when the principal is mad because your wrath will be lesser than mine.’ 

‘Don’t forget the ice-cream after,’ He judged at her side playfully before wrapping his arm around her. ‘What about your husband? Gotta have someone to tuck you in at night.’ He winked at her easily, pecking her cheek as he chuckled. 

Claire settled her self against Owen’s side without issue, sighing happily as she did so. ‘You do alright at that on your own.’ She told him with a verbal roll of her eyes. ‘Not just yet,’ Was her answer. ‘One day, yes. Just not now.’ To say a slight panic had eased in his chest would be a minor understatement. Owen adored Claire, her sons, and the life they had built together. But marrying her ten months after they had met was a little too much on Owen’s plate. He wanted to, one day somewhere in the between that moment and when the boys started school. For now he was happy as they were - all while being first and best choice to fill the empty space on the twins’ birth certificate. 

‘That a promise?’ He knew he was going to marry her _one day_ even if neither of them were ready for it now or in ten years. Owen was willing to stick by Claire Dearing’s side through thick and thin until she took her last breath. 

‘Only if you hose down the monsters.’ She teased, eyeing off the little boys who were starting to get bored of their birthday activity. Owen nodded, jumping up immediately as he moved for the children he called sons, hose in hand. 

Delighted shrieks only followed his moment, Isaac knowing exactly what the hose meant as Ollie got up and ran. He collided into the legs of his mother, marking her linen pants as he begged for freedom in his single whimper of _‘Mama!’_

Owen shrugged when she gave him a pointed glare, clothes likely ruined despite the paint being marked as washable. Claire didn’t like the chances that she’d see the day where her pants were clean, but then again she had sacrificed most of her wardrobe lovingly to the destruction her young boys liked to inflict. It was just another part of parenting. 

With Ollie on her hip, she ran the boys a bath leaving Owen to scrub them clean while she left to fetch the cake they had special ordered. Owen liked to think that despite not doing anything for the boys’ birthday, they at least needed a cake from Georgetown’s greatest. 

The house was dead silent when she returned, a rarity that meant her boys were either out, fast asleep, or up to serious trouble. Discarding the cakebox to the bench Claire went to investigate. Owen wouldn’t have ventured to take the boys out, not after a bath. The bathroom was empty, drenched in the aftermath of messy twins, but void of the children themselves. The nursery was the same, if not tidier leaving the master bedroom her last place to look. 

They were there, sprawled out on the bed half dressed and fast asleep. Owen half snored as Ollie lay, exhausted on his chest, Isaac curled into his side the usual protective hand wrapped around the boy’s ankle. 

A weight shifted in Claire’s chest, settling comfortably as she watched the three boys she considered hers. There was no doubt in her mind that Owen would try his damned hardest to stick around as long as he could to see the boys were raised and well and educated. He was going to stick by her side through thick and thin, relishing in every unprompted name, sugar rush and tantrum along the way. 

Claire had once considered herself cursed, now she could only think that someone had blessed her with Owen, granting her a second chance at a fortunate life. 

[…]

… 2 years later …

There was something Claire inexplicably loved about Autumn. Richly coloured leaves scattered the sidewalk as the weather tossed and turned between warmth and cold, getting ready for a new winter season. It was a reminder that they would have to say goodbye to the park, only passing it in the car as her sons waved glumly from the window. It was the signal for indoor play and the promise that each boy would go to the end of his ability to tear the other apart; the house they lived in falling with them. 

It was one of the warmer days for the midst of the fall season, the playground equipment surprisingly dry as the twins rushed towards it, bundled in jackets and scarves. She watched them from the park bench, holding a suddenly squirming eight-month-old in her lap as they squealed with laughter for what felt like hours as Owen chased them around, surprising them at all angles. 

Everything Claire Dearing could have asked for was right there in that moment. Maybe not the dog who sat with her head on Claire’s feet, the Golden Retriever who her energetic sons aptly named ‘ _Nana_ ’ was a good addition none the less.

They were completely off their timing with the dog. Although Owen’s bargaining plea was begging - and getting the boys to beg, not before teaching the twin two-year-old’s how to demonstrate their responsibility, they didn’t think much else would change in their lives. Sure, chasing a puppy around the house was expected, but Claire finding out she was pregnant two weeks after the animal came home; was not. The last thing they wanted was a puppy _and_ a baby, mixed in with the troublesome toddlers they already had.

There was no taking Nana back, only rearranging their lives an inch to the left to make more room. 

Alice Dearing-Grady was as much of a surprise and unplanned compromise as the puppy. She cried a little louder than the animal’s first whimpers and demanded slightly less attention, but they we ecstatic to include her in their family circle. Although they hadn’t planned adding to the family when Claire was groggy and unable to hold back food for two weeks straight. She _knew._ Owen adored the boys - _his_ boys but the way he looked at Alice for the first time was indescribable. Seeing her through tears was just as unplanned as she was, standing beside Claire’s shoulder her hand squeezing onto his as he kissed her face lovingly thanking her for the life she had given him willingly - although full of complaints. 

She was a good little girl, the apple of her father’s eye and the sole holder of her big brothers’ attention. Each boy was rapt with the new edition, as much as a toddler could be with the shocking realisation that someone else’s cry was more important than theirs. They were hands on brothers, rushing to the aid every time Alice so much as sighed. They were there to help change her diaper - not that they actually helped - and were there to kiss her goodnight. 

The Dearing-Grady’s struggled with their load and managed all the same. They were exhausted but blissfully happy with the life they had built for themselves. It only grew. Like the collection of toys the children had accumulated, or the number of houses Claire looked at in desperate need for more room. It build, expanding left, right, and upwards as Claire tried to plot out ways to tell her fiancé- predetermined love of her life - they were doomed. Claire was pregnant again, only six months after Alice’s birth. They were asking for trouble in that, health wise and financially but she couldn’t help the joy that buried itself in the corners of her mouth, desperate to reveal her secret to the man who would least expect it.

‘Alright boys, time to go home.’ Owen called into the playground, laughing as his sons shook their heads in refusal, giggles emanating from the equipment. He turned his head to Claire, watching the woman for a second with a fond smile before announcing his plan. ‘You get Ollie, I’ll grab Isaac.’ 

She nodded easily, pulling herself away from the bench seat to stand, Alice on her hip. There was no need to run off into the playground like Owen had, the man already having tripped once in his pursuit of the slipperiest twin.Claire caught Ollie’s eye, the boy standing at the top of the slide, he knew immediately that he had to listen, that his mother would only beckon for him once before he started loosing privileges. Gallantly, Oliver granted himself one last hurrah down the slope of the slide before joining his mother by her side, small hand on Nana’s head as he asked for a snack.

‘A snack?’ Claire asked the boy, scandal licking the edges of her words. He giggled, watching as she rummaged through the bag that always provided goodies at the hands of his mother, and mess from his father. ‘What about a nap when we get home?’ She asked, hoping that the boy would cave. Neither Ollie or Isaac needed naps during the day. In fact, Owen and Claire tried to keep them awake as long as possible in an attempt to get them to sleep longer. But, she was exhausted and although they tried the boys weren’t entirely capable of quiet play when mom was in desperate need for a sleep. 

Ollie scrunched up his face, lines stretching across his skin. He rustled at the wrapper belonging to the fruit bar Claire had given him, plastic sticking to his fingers as Ollie unceremoniously flicked it in her direction. Taking a bite, Ollie turned crosseyed at his sister as he puffed out his cheeks. The infant squealed with laughter, arms and legs waving as she expressed the joy her brother made her feel. 

Most days Claire thought they were crazy. Three kids and they hadn’t even been together for three years - with an unknown forth on the way. That would make them four under four. Claire was sure there was a record to be made there. She had given birth to the boys two months before she met Owen, but he was their father from day one. The ink dried on that paperwork a short time after their first birthday making it official and declaring the twins the first of the Dearing-Grady clan. 

They were crazy, insane, completely bonkers but it was moments where Alice peeled with laughter at one of her brothers that made it all worth it. The sleep deprivation, not so much - but the time spent worrying about if they were ready to handle another baby so soon. It was worth it even if Claire had already decided that this fourth baby was her last. Owen was getting the snip, or in the least not touching her ever again. 

She had lost sight of Owen and Isaac in her admiration of the little girl in her arms greedily reaching for her big brother, keen to drop her face on his. Claire could hear Isaac’s hysterical laughter, the sound mixing with Autumn leaves, stirring a ruckus amongst make-believe pixies. 

‘Isaac is a _little_ naughty.’ Oliver told Alice, his hand on hers. He had been fascinated to learn that his baby sister knew nothing of the world, and that he - Oliver James Dearing-Grady - would be charged with teaching her about it. His parents hadn’t meant it as seriously as Ollie took it, but it was something that entertained him none the less. The little boy pointing out small things in their world and explaining it to the girl. That particular detail on Isaac was a constant from Ollie’s lips, be it to his sister or a stranger on the street. 

‘Mama?’ He asked, turning his head up to her. Claire hummed, a hand pulling strawberry blond away from his eyes. ‘Maybe we can have a little nap?’ He offered, smiling at her with tired eyes. A nap was certainly on the card whether he joined or not, the only thing was getting Owen and Isaac home too. 

They appeared almost out of nowhere, seemingly further away from where they had originally been Owen’s clothes and hair coated in pine bark as he carried the eldest twin under his arm. Isaac laughed, kicking his legs like it was all an easy game; get daddy to chase you before you have to go home.

Claire was suddenly wishing they hadn’t walked. 

Owen huffed an exhausted breath through his cheeks as he marvelled at her. ‘Of course it was easy for you.’ He nodded to the boy still working on his snack as Isaac started to quietly demand one too. He knew that wrangling Ollie was easy, it was why he had given her the task not willing to ask the mother of his children to chase down their tyrant of a son with a baby on her hip. That and maybe he was sparing Isaac the punishment he was bound to get for not listening to Ma. It was always worse in comparison to what Owen dished out. 

‘Put me down, daddy!’ Isaac squealed, glee tickling across his cheeks. There was no hope in hell that Isaac would find his feet before they walked through the door of their sturdy home, under Owen’s arm was where he would stay for the casual walk they had to make. Isaac didn’t complain, only giggled when his father tickled his ribs after every few minutes of silence. 

Isaac ran, the second the soles of his shoes touched the floorboards of the front foyer. He was gone, Ollie, who had walked calmly beside Claire, disappearing with him. Owen only chuckled, shaking his head as he took Alice from her mother’s hip kissing the little girls cheeks to make her giggle. ‘You’re not goin’ to be a terror like your brothers, are you my girl. You’re gonna be good for daddy, hey.’ She only gurgled, Claire’s hand skimming his arm as she moved past him toeing her shoes off at the door. ‘Nap?’ Owen asked, watching his fiancee’s tired eyes. 

Nodding her head as she reached for her baby, Claire smiled sleepily. ‘Please.’ She was in desperate need to close her eyes for an hour. Owen had offered to take the twins to the park in order to give her peace and quite, it had lead to a family outing when Alice wouldn’t settle.

The boys were quiet while Claire and Alice napped, Ollie joining them ten minutes in to curl against his mother side, thumb in his mouth before he drifted off to sleep. They woke two hours later to Alice grumbling, the easy going little girl fussy because she was hungry. Oliver stayed with his mother as she nursed his sister, book in his lap pulled out from the bedside table, filled more with children’s books than anything else. 

Owen and Isaac could be heard softly in the kitchen, likely preparing dinner for an early night. ‘The trio have awoken.’ Owen grinned, hand on Oliver’s head as the sleep faced boy appeared at his hip. ‘Dinner’s almost done.’ He kissed the cheek of his wife to be as Claire came to stand beside him. Leaning over the pot she inhaled deeply, nausea overwhelmed her in an instant, stomach churning as she palmed Alice to Owen and ran for the bathroom. Nana was hot on her heels, the puppy following immediately.

He spent a second buckling Alice into a highchair before running after Claire, finding her head bent over the toilet bowl. ‘You okay?’ He asked her, voice worried. 

Claire slummed against the wall, hand on her stomach trying to relieve the ache there. ‘You know how we picked the date for the wedding next year?’ Owen nodded slowly, confusion writing itself across his face. ‘We’re going to have to change it.’ 

He crouched beside her, hands pushing her hair off her face. ‘What’s this got with you hatin’ my cookin’?’ He teased, eyes boring into hers, searching the shimmers of green in his blue eyed worry. It took a second, Claire looking at the man like he was stupid, Alice slapping her hands on the plastic tray of her highchair cheering ‘Mama!’ Impatiently. It clicked there, subtle cues locking onto a bigger picture. His frown slipped into a smile, climbing across his features as Owen tilted his head like Nana. 

She only nodded at him slowly, hand reaching for his. ‘I’m pregnant.’ She grinned, soon to be husband shaking his head. 

‘Oh god, we’re in over our heads.’ His words were laughed, joy slipping through the cracks. 

Claire nodded. ‘Four in four years, I say that’s gotta be a record.’ 

Tears burnt the backs of his eyelids, the palm of his hand pressed to his face. ‘I don’t even know what to say.’ His laugh was wet, emotion seeping through as Claire pushed up on her knees to wrap her hands around his neck. 

‘You say,’ She began, feeling his hands slip around her, ‘That you love me. You say, we make beautiful babies.’ She chuckled, feeling his mirth against her neck. ‘And you say, we’re abstaining from sex for at least three years.’ His laugh was ripe, loud in her ear as he squeezed her tight. ‘I’m not kidding about that last one.’ She warned, pulling away as her eyes sparkled with good humour. Owen only kissed her firmly on the lips. 

‘I love you,’ He pecked her lips, tears still sitting on his cheeks. ‘We make beautiful babies - and the sex thing. Is that open for discussion?’ He winked at her, kissing her cheek as she rolled her eyes. Slowly Claire nodded, admitting that yes it was on the table for discussion - but only if he got a vasectomy. Owen swallowed thickly. ‘Yeah, you know what, I heard abstinence is _cool_ again.’ 

‘Daddy!’ Oliver’s voice rang through the house with urgency. It was always urgent with those boys, regardless of if it was important or not. ‘Isaac’s got the markers again!’ He dobbed so easily, calling out, feet hard on the floor in search of his missing parents. This one was urgent, Claire’s eyes growing wide as she rushed to pull herself up from the floor. 

Owen only rolled his eyes. The entire kitchen island was coated in streaks of marker, a mistake Claire blamed entirely on him. It was Isaac’s fault completely, but it was Owen who was too busy cooking and not noticing his son was doing laps, marker in hand, pressed to the white wood. ‘Back to the real world.’ He kissed her cheek fleetingly, making sure he was steady on his feet as he raced for the boy, danger practically his middle name. 

Claire hesitated a second, eyes closed tight, terrified that she would find another clean wall in her home completely desecrated. Ollie was always willing to tattle on his brother, but it took him minutes too long to actually do so. Usually, he participated first - or watched - before calling out for help. She could hear Isaac’s laughing, Owen’s voice low asking how on the planet the boy managed to get the markers they had specifically moved _out_ of his reach. 

This was life now. The twins had always been trouble and Owen seemingly was _always_ by her side. Nothing changed, they grew and expanded but their foundations stayed the same. He shared in the mess she had made, two little boys willing to push the limits and test the boundaries of their very existence - and he loved every second of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to let me know what you think. 
> 
> Sound off in the comments!


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